


Angel in the Rafters

by skadren



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Miscommunication, Possessive Behavior, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel Fix-It, Warning: Hojo (Compilation of FFVII), Wingfic, a relic of our ancient sins, another cloud goes back in time fic, pick any reason you'd like for why gaia yeeted him into the past, sefikura not until later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-23 15:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 91,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23713405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skadren/pseuds/skadren
Summary: Sephiroth finds out his imaginary friend from his childhood isn't so imaginary after all, while ShinRa Company has their worst year since their conception (no seriously, look at their stocks drop). Meanwhile, Cloud's just trying to keep the Planet from dying again.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 1325
Kudos: 3186





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [watches everyone post remake fic from my no-remake exile] anyways here have a time travel fic from my early high school years, it's even more overdramatic than my usual fare and that's saying something,
> 
> the plot diverges quite a bit later on but the beginning copies a lot from [eir's tomorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315642/chapters/2735059) by jukeboxhound, which is why i never really felt comfortable with posting it all those years ago, but i feel guilty enough about not updating elegy for five months that i feel obligated to post _something_
> 
> ~~either way check jukeboxhound's work out anyways because it's amazing and i still cry at how good they are at words~~

“Are you here to kill me?” Sephiroth asks, the kiss of metal cold against his throat. He blinks his eyes open slowly, and the blur of gold and blue above him slowly resolves itself into a mess of blond hair on pale skin and glowing, narrowed eyes.

It would be a mercy, Sephiroth thinks, and he can see his thought reflected in an empathetic gaze. This is a kindred spirit, he realizes, someone who knows and understands how it feels to be an insect pegged to a corkboard, wings hopelessly pinned, where the only way to escape would be to tear its wings off.

He shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back, submitting to his fate. He braces himself, expecting the kiss to turn into a sharp bite—

The cold falls away, though, and he feels a slight pinch instead in his immobile hand as the long, thin needles, a warped imitation of Wutaian acupuncture, are gently removed from where they are deeply embedded in his skin. He’s never had anyone touch him like this, with intention to heal instead of harm. Even the needles had been placed with the most deliberate intent to cause him pain.

Just as the last needle is removed, Hojo’s raspy voice and uneven footsteps echo through the corridor outside. The needles clatter to the ground.

(Sephiroth knows his kindred spirit is gone.)

“What—boy, how did you remove the testing instruments?!”

This pattern continues. Hojo has a bad habit of leaving Sephiroth unattended for extended periods of time to check on his other experiments; whenever that happens, gentle hands remove whatever devices are causing Sephiroth pain. Then Hojo comes back and the warm presence leaves. His friend (and part of Sephiroth leaps at calling someone a _friend)_ never visits when anyone else is present, but Sephiroth doesn’t mind, even when a frustrated Hojo begins staying more and more in an attempt to catch the culprit ruining his tests, citing faulty security cameras and traitorous lab assistants. After all, Sephiroth wouldn’t stay around any scientists if he could choose, either.

He misses the warmth, though.

-

Then, things begin hovering in the corner of Sephiroth’s notice: almost-silent footsteps, the gentle rustle of clothing, the soft fluttering of wings. There are small visible signs here and there: a snowy-white feather abandoned on the floor, a gleaming metal sword with too many edges leaning against the wall, flickers of black fabric turning corners just faster than his short five-year-old legs can catch.

(There’s a permanent spot in between Sephiroth’s shoulder blades that itches from the burn of an intense gaze.)

The presence can’t act during Sephiroth’s testing sessions anymore, not with the constant monitoring, but Sephiroth thinks that this means they’re taking care to leave signs, to show Sephiroth that he isn’t abandoned. In the absence of warmth, Sephiroth thinks of this and feels warm anyways.

Some days, Sephiroth calls out. “I know you’re there,” he says one night as he shuts his chemistry book. “Why don’t you ever show yourself?” he asks another night after his materia lesson. “Talk to me,” he ends up demanding at least once a week. And once, after Professor Gast gives him a book on common legends and myths, he asks, “Are you an angel?”

But they never respond.

Hojo slaps him and scolds him for “indulging in flights of fancy” when he finds the book before sending him to his room with no dinner. His father—and everyone else for that matter—can’t see any traces of the person with wings; otherwise, it would be quite clear that Sephiroth is not, in fact, having any flights or fancies. Of any kind.

He’d rather they think he was imagining things, though, than discover his angel’s presence. After all, what if they strap them down and hurt them too?

Sephiroth begins tucking things under his bed, safe from prying eyes. His angel is the first time he has something of his very own, something that is _his_ and no one else’s. Something that no one—not the guards, not the lab assistants, not _Hojo—_ can take away. A secret.

Sephiroth thinks he rather likes it.

-

Things come to a head several months later, when Hojo blitzes into the lab in a thunderous mood, snarling things about _Hollander_ and _worthless experiments_ and _wasted potential._ Two guards grab one of his arms each and drag him from his room, making him drop his book, and when he lies down on the cold, flat table there are restraints and needles and resounding _painpainpain_ as skin is pulled away and bones are forcefully shattered one by one—

This time, when he starts screaming, Hojo doesn’t call the end of the endurance test as he usually does. Instead, Hojo says, almost blandly, “Silence it. I can’t concentrate over all its noise,” and a gag is shoved into his gasping mouth. Then he sneers down at Sephiroth. “How pathetic. The pinnacle of my creation ought to be able to withstand more than that—you were _made better_ than Hollander’s brats! I have no use for a _failure—”_

Sephiroth barely finishes wondering who Hollander’s brats might be when the mako tube next to the table _shatters_ with a deafening crash, sending the green fluid flooding across the bloodstained floor. Screams and explosions ring, and distantly, an alarm blares. Hojo makes a strange gurgling noise as two shards impale his shoulder and stomach, one scrapes his cheek, and another barely misses his jugular, leaving a bright red streak against the side of his neck. A beaker full of something violently purple whizzes by and slams into the back of his head; he crumples like a rag doll. The assistants scatter like frightened mice as destruction continues to rage throughout the lab, though some guards brave the tempest to drag Hojo’s unconscious body out, barely sparing the broken child laying on the table a glance. Sephiroth lets his eyes fall shut, and soon, everything falls silent but the _drip drip drip_ of spilled mako and soft, slow footsteps ghosting over broken glass.

He knows those footsteps.

There’s a soft touch to his cheek, then to his forehead, brushing a strand of hair off his face. The barest whisper of _I’m sorry_ reaches his ears, and then a familiar warmth flows through him, but this time it knits his bared bones and flesh back together. Sephiroth opens his eyes to a fading green glow, and he’s read of curative magic before, of course, but no one’s ever used (wasted) any on _him_ before—

Gently, he’s lifted up by strong arms. The rocking with each stride lulls Sephiroth into a calm daze. Exhausted, Sephiroth succumbs to the desire to tuck his head against the warm chest and just rest, but not before he manages to mumble, “What are you sorry for?”

There’s a pause in step, a silent inquiry.

But Sephiroth is already unconscious.

-

Cloud frowns at the sleeping boy. Though he’d tucked the covers right under his chin, the child— _Sephiroth,_ he reminds himself, _this is Sephiroth—_ is still shivering violently. His face is flushed and sweaty, and when Cloud rests a hand on his forehead it burns at a temperature noticeably higher than even a mako-enhanced person’s should. He sighs and withdraws his hand; any more Cures at this point will just make the fever worse.

The unconscious boy whimpers and turns his head towards Cloud’s retreating hand, seeking its cool reprieve, and Cloud jerks away—partially from a half-buried but still-ingrained fear, and partially from shock at hearing the great Sephiroth whimper like a small child.

Then he scolds himself, because this _is_ a small child—one who is completely innocent of his future self’s actions. One who screams a terrible rising scream, the very same long, drawn screams Cloud hears in his own green-washed nightmares where he etches long, deep scratches into thick glass with broken, scrabbling nails. Regardless of his own indecision, he should have acted sooner—the moment he realized Hojo was in one of his infamous moods—

(he is well aware of what Hojo is capable of when infuriated)

In his hesitation, he doesn’t notice the small hand until it is too late, and it latches on to his own with a ferociously reckless abandon. He starts and tugs away experimentally, but not any harder, wary of rebreaking Sephiroth’s startlingly fragile bones.

(They would become more reinforced than even the strongest of steel beams, in the future. To think that the towering, powerful, indestructible _god_ had once been this small, frail, breakable child…)

“Don’t go.” Sephiroth’s eyes are barely green slits. “Please…”

Cloud says nothing— _can_ say nothing—and Sephiroth must mistake it for a negative, because he weakly begs again, “Please stay…”

“Shhh,” Cloud shushes him, and, on instinct, smooths away a stray lock of hair plastered to the child’s small, sweaty face. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

-

When Sephiroth wakes again, his fever has cooled considerably, but he still seems somewhat hazy. Cloud had dozed off not too long ago kneeling by the bed, arm still trapped in the boy’s tiny grip, but is woken by the stirring of sheets and an intense gaze.

“Who are you?”

Cloud hesitates.

Sephiroth frowns, clearly afraid he has done something wrong to cause Cloud’s silence. “I… apologize. Professor Gast said I should give my name first before asking for another’s. I am Sephiroth.”

 _I know,_ Cloud thinks, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically.

“Please,” Sephiroth says, and distantly, Cloud thinks with no little humor that he’s gotten Sephiroth of all people to beg for the third time. “Just your name.”

“… Cloud.”

“Cloud,” he repeats slowly. Eyes wide and painfully young, he asks, “Why did you save me? No one has ever… It would have been better if I…”

Cloud looks at the small, vulnerable boy, and thinks of Denzel, lying pale and unresponsive in a bed that dwarfs him, a purple-black bruise steadily darkening his forehead. He thinks of a stuffed moogle, so dirty and ragged that the original white color is forever lost, abandoned in the gutters and covered in sticky, tar-like fluid. He thinks of black-stained bandages unraveling and falling to the ground. A shiver tracks down his spine as he thinks of the root of it all, Jenova and _Sephiroth the god._

He thinks of what he’s seen these past few months—a young broken child, shivering and lonely in a sterilized expanse of cold hard surfaces and cold hard touches, unknowing of love or warmth or friendship. He thinks of himself, standing passively in the corner of the lab as that same child had choked on thick green liquid flooding higher and higher within a narrow tube, hands clenched convulsively over the hilt of Tsurugi as he struggles internally with himself. Unable to bring himself to kill an innocent child and save both the child and the world of suffering, but unwilling to act overtly and raise Hojo’s suspicions for more than an undercover saboteur…

It had taken him a while to realize, but Cloud’s ability to affect tangible objects is inconsistent. He thinks it might have something to do with his emotions, or the amount of Lifestream, mako or otherwise, in his surroundings, or maybe a combination of the two factors, but—the only person here, _now,_ who can see him, who can feel his touch, is Sephiroth. Perhaps it is only because of the concentration of mako that runs in Sephiroth’s blood, but all Cloud can think is that the Planet’s message is clear.

 _It would be over quickly,_ something in him whispers. _A single cut to the throat. Maybe a blow to the back of the head…_

(He doesn’t know if it’s his own mind or the Planet. He hates himself for it either way.)

“No,” Cloud interrupts. He’s surprised by the fervor of his response after his indecisiveness of the past few months. “You deserve to be saved.”

 _(I pity you. You just don’t get it at all,_ his voice says, an echo from a lifetime ago. _There’s not a thing I don’t cherish.)_

Sephiroth’s face twists in confusion. He opens his mouth to speak further, but the pallor of his skin and the shadows under his eyes are still nowhere near healthy, so Cloud shakes his head. “Go back to sleep. You need it.”

The grip on his hand tightens, and Sephiroth frowns, clearly reluctant. “Will you still be here when I wake up?”

Cloud squeezes back as comfortingly as he can. “I stayed the first time, didn’t I?”

Sephiroth nods, seemingly pacified with his response, and settles back, eyes falling shut once more. His hand stays clamped over Cloud’s own.

-

Sephiroth wakes to Cloud running a hand comfortingly through his hair. “Cloud?” he murmurs.

Cloud’s hand pauses, then pulls away. He stands.

“Wait,” Sephiroth croaks and struggles to sit up, his limbs prickly and aching, presumably from lying down for much too long. “You’re leaving?”

Cloud studies at him for a moment before looking away. “You’re awake now,” he points out.

Sephiroth doesn’t know what his expression shows, but in his chest, he feels something that he thinks might be called heartbreak. Cloud must be able to read it, though, because he hastens to reassure, “I’ll be back soon.” His hand lifts slightly in some quickly aborted gesture before clenching into a fist. Abruptly, he turns and stalks out.

Sephiroth is left staring at the automated steel door, which has not slid open an inch.

Strangely, all he can think is, _I suppose angels don’t have to use doors after all._

-

After that first meeting, Cloud begins flitting intermittently in and out of Sephiroth’s view consistently. While Sephiroth is glad that he isn’t afraid of being seen anymore, he wishes he wouldn’t be so silent. The openness of their first encounter is gone; when he responds to Sephiroth’s prodding, it is often tersely.

One day, Sephiroth looks up from his assignment on apoptosis, carefully sets down his pen at a ninety-degree angle, and asks, “Where do you go all the time?”

Cloud, on the other hand, barely glances up from his sword, which he has disassembled into a complex set of six _(six!_ a small part of Sephiroth’s mind balks) different blades. “I’m looking for something.” He picks one up and begins cleaning it with swift, practiced motions.

Sephiroth frowns. “That doesn’t answer my question.” When Cloud simply shrugs, Sephiroth prods further, “What are you looking for? Did you lose something important to you?”

“ … Something like that.”

Eagerly, Sephiroth asks, “What does it look like? Maybe I can help—”

“No!” The blade clatters to the ground. Cloud’s face is dark and furious. A storm.

Sephiroth flinches.

Cloud’s eyes widen, and suddenly the storm is gone. “I—I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have yelled.” He sighs. “What I’m looking for… she’s dangerous. She’ll tell you she loves you, and then she’ll manipulate you into finding her and joining her and—” He cuts himself off with a shudder, then vows, “I’m going to destroy her before she ever gets a chance to hurt anyone else.”

“I don’t understand,” Sephiroth says. “Who is she? She’s going to make me do bad things? Why me? I’m not—I don’t…”

Something strange passes over Cloud’s expression, and suddenly, everything makes _sense_ . The guards’ terrified looks as he passes them in the halls, the assistants’ vicious whispers when they think he can’t hear, Hojo’s strange wavering between referring to him as “boy” and “it” and _“god”_ —

“Cloud… I’m not human, am I?”

“Sephiroth—”

“I’m a monster. That’s why everyone’s afraid of me, that’s why I can do things other people can’t, that’s why Mother _left_ and Father always _hurts me—”_

Warm arms wrap around him, and suddenly he’s sobbing into Cloud’s shoulder. They stay like that for minutes, Cloud rubbing his back and murmuring quiet comforts, but eventually he calms enough to hear Cloud say, “Sephiroth.”

“Mmn,” he mumbles back.

“Your mother’s name was Lucrecia, and she was human,” he says. “I know someone who knew her well. She loved you very much, and she would never have left you if not for circumstances out of your control.”

“But… Father said Mother’s name was Jenova.”

The arms encircling him tighten dangerously. “Hojo is a _sick liar_ who doesn’t deserve to be called your father,” Cloud spits. “Jenova is a _virus_ and a _killer_ and she is _not your mother.”_

“Oh,” Sephiroth says, very faintly.

“You were born human.” Cloud draws back and brushes Sephiroth’s hair out of his face, staring very seriously into his eyes. “You _are_ human. Some of the things that have been done to you, the way Hojo’s raised you—they might make you different from most. But here,” he says, placing a hand slightly left of Sephiroth’s sternum, “is what counts. You can choose what kind of person you want to be. Those who _choose_ to do bad things, and drag down others with them… they’re the real monsters. You—your heart is human. And that’s what matters.

“Sephiroth… you are no monster. That much, I know now.”

-

“Tell me a story?” Sephiroth asks one night after Cloud has tucked him in bed.

Cloud blinks down at him, surprised. “What brought this on?”

Sephiroth turns red. “Professor Gast told me today that he reads a story to his wife and their baby every night. It’s… something a family does together. Right?”

A frown creases Cloud’s brow. “Aerith—Gast’s daughter—is already born?” _That can’t be… It’s still too early—_

“No,” Sephiroth says. “Miss Ifalna is pregnant. She said so when she visited me last week. Does that mean… you won’t tell me a story?”

He looks so dejected at the thought that Cloud has to smile. “I’ll tell you a story whenever you like. I’m flattered that you think of me as family.”

Sephiroth twists the blanket between his fingers. “Are we? Family? Father— _Hojo_ said that family is simply a social construct of false sentiment between those who happen to share blood, but Professor Gast said that it doesn’t have to be people who are related, but people who share an unbreakable bond and protect and love each other no matter what. I just thought, maybe…” He trails off.

“Professor Gast is right,” Cloud says firmly. “We’re family.”

Sephiroth lights up.

“Now, lie down and I’ll tell you a story.” Cloud ruffles Sephiroth’s hair, and remembers a cheerful, dark-haired man who used to do the same to him.

_Long ago, a Calamity fell from the skies. Hungry for power, she found a host in one of the Cetra, a race of beings closely connected to the Planet and the Lifestream. Slowly but surely, she twisted the Cetra against her own kin, feeding her dark thoughts of corruption and betrayal…_

_The Cetra fought long and hard against the Calamity. They managed to seal her away, but at great cost. Nearly wiped out, the Cetra retreated into obscurity, leaving humankind behind to reign over the Planet._

_Two thousand years later, humans seeking the Promised Land unearthed the Calamity in the Northern Crater. Mistaking her for a Cetra, they took her with them to study, to experiment on, to control…_

_They named her JENOVA._

-

The next day, Sephiroth shifts on the examination table, silently watching Hojo snap on a pair of latex gloves before prepping his weekly injection. Behind him, Cloud leans against the wall with his eyes closed and arms crossed, a comforting presence at his back.

The glass of the hypodermic needle clinks as Hojo flicks it several times, ridding it of bubbles. The liquid inside, rather than its normal mako-green, is the slick, murky brown of swamp water.

“Your arm, boy.”

Sephiroth eyes its suspicious coloration, but obediently offers his arm.

Before Hojo can grasp his wrist, however, a shock of _fearangerhatred_ not his own sears through Sephiroth’s mind as the tube in Hojo’s hand shatters with a deceptively delicate tinkle. Thick goop splatters all over Hojo’s gloves and lab coat, but not a single drop hits Sephiroth as his vision is swallowed by white feathers. Over Hojo’s cursing, other things begin to vibrate loudly with Cloud’s mounting rage, with the more delicate instruments eventually giving up on their integrity entirely. Something goes up in a puff of smoke and sets the smoke detector off, closely followed by the sprinklers.

“Get him back to his room!” Hojo snaps over the alarm’s wailing, and guards brave the stinging downpour to hustle Sephiroth out the door. He doesn’t look back, but he knows Cloud follows closely, a protective shadow.

The moment the door hisses shut behind the guards’ backs, he rounds on Cloud, but his demand of _what was that for_ dies upon seeing the goop hiss and steam where it has contacted Cloud’s skin. It almost seems to eat away at him, leaving Cloud’s already incorporeal form patchy and transparent.

Hojo had been planning to _inject_ that into him, Sephiroth thinks with no little horror.

Cloud grimaces and wipes his fading hands onto his clothes, face pale and drawn from pain. “Well, that’s new.”

Sephiroth feels like there is something large squirming up of his suddenly too-tight throat, and something constricts his chest with an iron grip, and Cloud is going to _die_ from touching _weird goo_ and it’s _all Sephiroth’s fault—_

“Hey. Hey, Sephiroth, it’s okay, I’m not going to die, probably—” Cloud flickers once, twice, but kneels to grasp his shoulders firmly anyways. “See? Grab my hand if it makes you feel better—everything’s fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, just take a deep breath—”

Sephiroth feels like it would be easier to remember how to breathe if there wasn’t a growing patch of Cloud’s left cheek through which he can very clearly see the whitewashed wall of his room.

 _“Sephiroth,”_ Cloud repeats rather emphatically. “Sephiroth. Hey. Look at me. I’m fine, okay?”

And he is. Slowly, gradually, the color creeps back into Cloud’s flesh, and he looks less and less like an old photograph someone spilled water on, if a bit blurry about the edges. Sephiroth’s throat unclenches, and suddenly he can breathe again.

“There you are.” Cloud smiles. “See? No need to panic.”

“You said _probably,”_ Sephiroth says crossly, but he can’t keep himself from returning a relieved smile.

“Don’t worry, it’ll take more than that to kill me.”

Cloud probably intends it as a comforting statement, but for a moment, there’s something inexplicably strange and sad that crosses his face. It’s gone a fraction of a second later, but it brings back to mind a question he asked several months ago, long before he ever met this strange, sad man face to face.

He’ll ask tomorrow, Sephiroth decides. Right now he just wants to hold on to Cloud—warm, solid, not-fading-away Cloud—for a little longer.

-

“You never answered my question, you know.”

Cloud blinks, thrown by the sudden statement. “What question?”

“You don’t remember? I asked if you were an angel, once.” At Cloud’s growing befuddlement, Sephiroth hastens to clarify, “I know they’re not supposed to be real! I’m not _childish.”_ Ironically, his lip juts out rather petulantly, just like Marlene’s used to—would?—when she didn’t get her way.

“Of course you’re not childish,” Cloud says with no little amusement, “but an angel? _Me?_ I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? You have wings and everything.”

“Just having wings doesn’t make you an angel.” Cloud shudders slightly as he thinks of a towering man with a single black wing, beautiful and powerful and overwhelmingly _terrible._

He doesn’t know why the Planet gave him a form with wings. They represent everything he both desires and hates with a burning passion. On his good days, he thinks they might be a symbol of power, of freedom. On his bad days, they are a mockery that mirrors the stigma of the Calamity, a sign of the chains binding him to his grim purpose, of his own inhumanity that he nearly cannot bear.

_(Don’t forget what you were sent here to do.)_

“But… are you _sure?_ Really, really sure?”

Sephiroth, though initially embarrassed by his supposedly childish belief, is actually rather invested, Cloud realizes. “Really, no. Sorry to disappoint, but I think I’d know if I was an angel. A messenger of the gods… no way.”

Cloud is nowhere near as grand; after all, his job is far less benevolent.

“You don’t have to be a messenger,” Sephiroth says. “I read about it in the book Professor Gast gave me. It says that guardian angels are a very special kind of angel that protect people and guide them on the right path. You’ve always protected me, so I thought maybe… maybe you were mine.” He suddenly looks very young and vulnerable, and it hits Cloud that he’s only five years old.

Only five years old, and already so old in mind.

Cloud hides a sad smile. “Okay, then. I may not be a real angel, but… if you want, I’ll be your guardian angel.”

Sephiroth lights up, and Cloud thinks that watching him act his age might be one of the fondest memories he’ll have of this time. “Really?”

“Really.”

-

“Play the footage again.”

The Turk nods and, with a press of a button, the previous day’s lab incident plays across the screen once more. Hojo narrows his eyes at a strange flicker in the background as the syringe in his video-self’s hands shatters, sending thick fluid cascading over his sleeves—without a single drop landing on the silver-haired child sitting calmly on the lab table.

Professor Hojo is no fool. Perhaps the first disturbance could be chalked up to a strange release of Sephiroth’s mental stress, but this time, the boy exhibited no signs of distress whatsoever. It had been a routine injection, after all, regardless of the substances Hojo is now free to test due to Gast’s… absence. Furthermore, JENOVA’s cells have never transferred any sort of telekinetic ability. As such, Sephiroth developing such powers is extremely unlikely.

Hojo tracks the strange humanoid blur, more visible than it had been at the beginning of the clip, as the events play out onscreen. Normally, he would have dismissed it as a mere technological malfunction, but in light of the evidence…

“Retrieve the footage from the incident two months ago,” he barks. “I want a side-by-side comparison.”

As the Turk hastens to comply, Hojo smirks. How _fascinating._

-

Almost a year after Cloud first wakes up to find himself in the past, he feels a twinge in the back of his head. Something momentous has happened.

 _New life,_ the Planet whispers. _Rebirth. Second chances._ Upon sensing his confusion, she adds, _The swelling of a mother’s abdomen with child. Mating—_

 _Stop, I get it! I get it!_ Cloud screams frantically back, if only to stop her from going into further detail.

There is a strange presence, now, a constant niggling in a corner of his mind. It’s both familiar and foreign and it tugs on all the edges of his mind, stronger and stronger with each passing day. After all, two of the same soul cannot coexist, and he is the one who doesn’t belong, a pebble cast far from the stream of time.

(Time is running out.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates are faster because i want to get to the good part (also because i have like ten chapters prewritten)
> 
> temporary character death warning applies to this chapter. with it comes descriptions of violence and blood, etc
> 
> edit: check out these two cute pieces of cloud and baby seph by [savanir](/users/savanir/) [here](https://imgur.com/gallery/wMosh6d) and [here](https://imgur.com/gallery/8QayyDQ)!!

“Widen your stance. Don’t be afraid to move your feet.”

Sephiroth grits his teeth as the Turk’s katana sweeps by his head, nearly clipping his ear. Cloud stands behind him as he drops advice, occasionally nudging an arm or a leg into its correct position before darting gracefully out of the way of the two fighters. As one, they dodge his dark-haired opponent’s next strike before Sephiroth lashes out with one of his own, aimed at the man’s left side. Suddenly, he feels his legs thrown out from underneath him, and he lands in an ungraceful heap on the dirt.

Cloud’s amused face hovers over him as he helps him up. “What’d I tell you? You’re overextending. It leaves you off balance and easy to knock over. Don’t just use your arms; shift your weight to the balls of your feet and _step.”_

Sephiroth growls and heaves himself to his feet.

His next lunge he _steps,_ and as the Turk sweeps in for a retaliating strike, he finds himself able to recover his balance in time to block it.

Behind their locked blades, the man nods in approval before withdrawing. “Your lesson is over for the day. Warm down.”

Sephiroth nods back, and then it’s just him and Cloud in the training room.

“That was pretty good,” Cloud says, ruffling his sweaty hair.

“It felt strange,” Sephiroth grumbles.

“You’ll get used to it. Footwork is important. Standing in one place in a swordfight when you’re not skilled enough is just asking to get stabbed.”

“Really.”

“Yep.” There’s a tinge of mischief in Cloud’s smirk. “Only arrogant people do it. It makes people want to stab them.”

“If it requires a great amount of skill to do competently, I don’t see how a display of ability would raise aggression levels.”

“You wouldn’t,” Cloud murmurs with a strange sort of humor.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to beat the habit out of you early on, that’s all. Dodging’s vital for not getting killed for most people.”

Sephiroth huffs. “And what about you? Why do you bother dodging at all when it just passes through you?”

“Just because it passes through doesn’t mean it feels _good._ Besides, if I couldn’t dodge hits from a _Turk,_ I think I’d eat Tsurugi in shame.”

Sephiroth frowns and looks down at the blunted blade in his hands.

“Hey. It’s okay that you can’t beat him,” Cloud says, tipping Sephiroth’s chin up with a finger. “He’s been doing this for literally several times longer than you’ve been alive. Just give yourself a bit more time. Even if I don’t agree with them starting you so early, it _is_ effective—you’ll definitely be amazing when you get older.”

“As good as you?”

Cloud’s answering smile unfurls like a flower blooming, soft and bittersweet. “Better, even.”

-

“Why don't we just leave?” Sephiroth asks bitterly one day from his position curled within Cloud's wings.

He's barely escaped another painful test, this time Cloud shattering a whole row of mako tubes before Hojo had finally called it off. Cloud tries not to intervene too much, but it seems that the scientist is getting more and more daring with Gast’s long-term absence. It's dangerous, but Cloud would rather risk his discovery than Sephiroth's sanity.

“I won’t be able to protect you from starvation,” Cloud says, “or wild monsters, or being hunted down and recaptured, or—”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re intangible. I can take care of myself. I can beat that Turk now. And those monsters Hojo makes me kill.”

“No, I mean—I can't leave Nibelheim, Sephiroth.”

He'd tried many, many times on his search-and-destroy quest for JENOVA, only to hit a wall about ten miles out of the town. His tether is shrinking now, too, his soul unable to venture too far away from his unborn self without damaging its development. Soon, he probably won’t even be able to reach the reactor. The only window of time he can possibly pull it off is when Hojo brings Sephiroth to Midgar, transferring all his lab materials alongside them. Hojo will want to keep JENOVA close during the move, and bring her to Nibelheim beforehand. It should be happening soon; hopefully it will happen _before_ he is born—he doesn't want to see what will happen if he forcefully maintains his existence afterwards.

_Gaia would probably throw a fit,_ Cloud thinks. Much like an overprotective mother, she hates it when he unnecessarily endangers himself. He would be grateful if not for the fact that she _nags_ like an overprotective mother too.

“You can’t leave?” Sephiroth asks, eyes wide. “Then—then we’ll stay in Nibelheim. We’ll hide in the mountains, or—”

“No,” Cloud says, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t be able to stay in the same place without Hojo finding you. He’d turn the world over inside out if he had to. And once he takes you back, what you’ve experienced so far is nothing compared to what he’d do to you as punishment. That’s the kind of man he is. There are many fates worse than death.”

Sephiroth watches Cloud’s face carefully, then says, _“You’ve_ experienced things like that before. Haven’t you.”

Cloud doesn’t answer, unable to bring himself to tell so huge a lie. That in itself is answer enough, he knows. As Sephiroth’s face darkens, he rests a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Don’t.”

“But—”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not something you could do anything about.”

“If I get stronger—”

_“Sephiroth.”_

Sephiroth huffs.

“Promise me you won’t go looking for trouble. With Hojo, or anyone else.”

“ … I promise,” Sephiroth says sullenly.

Cloud’s gaze softens. “Thank you. I just don’t want you to get hurt. You know that, right?”

Sephiroth nods slowly. “You’ve always protected me.”

“And I’ll keep doing it,” Cloud promises. “For as long as I can.”

(Little does Cloud know, this is the day Sephiroth vows to become strong—the strongest, so Cloud doesn’t have to protect him anymore. So Cloud doesn’t get hurt protecting him anymore. So Cloud will be protected by _Sephiroth,_ instead, one day.)

(What he does know, though, is that the days where he can protect Sephiroth are numbered.)

-

The moment JENOVA enters his range, Cloud knows. Gaia _roars_ in his mind, protective and furious and desperate all at once. It’s the first time in weeks that he’s felt fully awake and at attention rather than drifting in a dreamlike haze interspersed with random bouts of dizziness.

August 11th, 1986, was over a week ago. There’s a death rattle in his chest as he breathes, now, growing louder with each passing day.

He has to go.

Cloud glances down at Sephiroth tucked small and warm against his chest, face peaceful in sleep, blank of the eerie wisdom that makes him appear so far beyond his years. In lieu of real moonlight in the windowless room, his hair shines bright and silver against his pillow. Perceptive as always, he’d caught on to Cloud’s recent listlessness and had been worried in his own way, demanding that they lay in bed during their free time rather than follow their usual routine of banter and sword practice. Gently, Cloud eases his arm out from underneath the sleeping child, then slips weightlessly off the bed.

When his feet settle, a glowing white materia clinks as it rolls on the ground. It’s not _the_ White Materia; though its purifying role remains the same, Cloud knows it’s meant for a much more destructive use.

_Thank you,_ he thinks to the Planet.

“I’ll be back,” he whispers to the empty room, a promise to himself and Sephiroth all at once.

He presses a soft kiss to Sephiroth’s forehead. Then he is gone.

-

Sephiroth wakes to an eerie screeching that hammers at his eardrums and rails behind his eyes. It blurs with the wails of a siren and panicked yells in the hallway outside his room.

Cloud is nowhere to be seen.

If it had been a year ago, Sephiroth would not have worried. Cloud disappeared without a trace often, back then, only allowing Sephiroth to find him when he was good and ready. But Cloud had stopped, after a while, and almost never leaves Sephiroth’s side, especially now with the strange recent lethargy and lack of focus that he stubbornly refuses to acknowledge—

“Cloud?” he calls. “Cloud—”

Hojo bursts in, snapping, “Come with me, boy!”

Disoriented, Sephiroth says, “Professor—”

Snatching his arm, Hojo drags him out into the hallway. White lab coats and dark suits blur Sephiroth’s vision, and he follows Hojo unresistingly into a monitoring room, overlooking a large training facility through a one-way mirror. Having never been on this side of the glass, Sephiroth takes in the blinking panels of buttons and knobs underneath large screens full of scrolling numbers and video footage with slight awe. He is, on the other hand, intimately familiar with the training room, having used it to battle countless numbers of Hojo’s warped monsters during “tests”, but now it’s filled with tall metal walls and stacks of identical storage boxes, creating a claustrophobic maze.

In the middle stands _Cloud,_ wings flared and breath heavy, something bright and glowing dissipating through his clenched fist. Before him lies open a single rectangular pod, about the size of a large human. Its contents, whatever they might have been, lie in a pile of ashes and charred streaks across the floor and walls.

“Sir!” One of the lab assistants approaches Hojo. “The sample—”

Hojo waves a hand dismissively. “A necessary sacrifice. It is no matter—we’ll soon have a superior specimen. Release the gaseous compound.”

“Sir!” he repeats. With the switch of a lever, something hisses in the other room, sending a cloud of green vapor right into Cloud’s face.

Sephiroth watches, confused, as Cloud coughs, raising an arm in an attempt to shield his face. He can’t quite seem to gather his thoughts, scattered as they are in the wake of the strange screeching in his mind.

“What’s the visibility?” Hojo says.

“We’re—we’re getting a reading!” another scientist says excitedly. “It’s very slight, but it’s working!”

“Increase the potency! I want it solid and incapacitated as soon as possible.”

With the press of a few buttons, more fog pours into the room, and the air itself begins to take on a sickly green hue. Cloud stumbles slightly as he searches for the exit before losing his patience maneuvering around the twists and turns of the maze and trying to phase through the wall, but—

He smacks into the hard steel of the wall in front of him and blinks, stunned. Sephiroth would laugh at his stupefied expression if the situation weren’t so _strange._ Suddenly, the blond man draws his enormous blade from thin air before slamming it into the wall, tearing a hole straight through, as if it were paper. Path cleared, he darts forward, blasting away any other obstacles much in the same way, but his movements seem—stilted, somehow, as if he is in pain. His pause to break into a harsh coughing fit only proves this, and when he swipes at his mouth with his hand, Sephiroth thinks he sees a stain of vibrant red against Cloud’s pale skin.

“It’s escaping faster than expected!” someone calls, panicked.

“Lock down the exits, you fool!” Hojo snaps back, before breaking into crazed laughter. “It’s working! It truly does achieve a tangible state when exposed to enough mako—its tolerance is incredible, beyond even my calculations! As suspected, its reaction to the incorporated J-cells is quite peculiar—but then again, as a possible creature of the Lifestream, they could be considered natural enemies… using _her_ as bait was indeed the correct conjecture—”

Sephiroth’s fogged mind finally snaps into place with a _click_ and he begins thrashing in Hojo’s grasp. “What are you—what are you doing to him?!”

Hojo blinks down at him, seeming to just remember the child in his grasp. “It infiltrated the facilities and destroyed valuable experimental material, boy. I am merely acting in the ShinRa company’s best interests.”

“Cloud’s my _friend,_ don’t call him an _it,”_ Sephiroth snarls, and struggles harder, but Hojo’s grip forces him into an awkward position, and he’s unable to get any leverage.

“Oh, so it’s your _friend?”_ The word sounds strange, falling like a stone from Hojo’s mouth as he warps it into something twisted, something unrecognizable. “So you do know this creature. Don’t give me that ridiculous look—you can’t hide anything from me, boy, though I was thinking that perhaps with your lackluster reaction you didn’t care for it, after all. Well, far be it from me to keep you from aiding your _friend—_ I have been known to be… generous from time to time. Demonstrate your potential so I know my efforts were not wasted, boy. I’ll even reduce your punishment for trying to keep secrets if you succeed.”

Without waiting for Sephiroth to respond, he drags him through a door in the side of the monitoring room and down a staircase that leads into the mako-fogged training room.

“Go, then,” Hojo says, releasing him. “Let’s see what you can do to save your so-called _friend.”_

Sephiroth doesn’t look back as he runs as fast as he can toward his struggling angel.

-

“Shit.” Cloud pants as he wipes away blood from his lips, leaning heavily against the wall. He should have known it wouldn’t have been this easy.

Of course Hojo’s realized his presence. As insane as the scientist is, he’s nowhere near stupid. Cloud had been careless—things mysteriously exploding whenever Sephiroth is about to be injected full of J-cells isn’t exactly the most subtle approach. Whatever Hojo had figured out during those tests, he’s managed to force him into a tangible state, and now Cloud is stuck running circles around this gods-damned maze. All the walls are identical, gleaming metal slabs with no visible markings, making it nearly impossible to tell which way the exit is no matter how many he sends toppling over.

Not to mention this green smoke, acrid with the taint of mako and something _other,_ making his limbs shake and vision blur. His stomach heaves as if caught in a particularly vicious bout of motion sickness, and he can taste blood tickling the back of his throat. His lungs wheeze with every breath he takes, and he knows it is more than the poison in the air that arrests his actions. His time has long run out.

_Stupid,_ he berates himself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He resists the urge to set everything on fire in his frustration. The vaporized mako in the air is far too conductive of magic, and he’d probably blow himself up alongside everything else if he tried.

He swears again as he runs into another dead end, blasting it away with a swipe of First Tsurugi, before stumbling as the floor quakes. There’s a grinding noise to his left somewhere, far behind _more fucking walls._

In the distance, something vicious roars, a beast released from its cage into the coliseum. Something—some _one—_ else screams, a thin, pale wail of desperation.

Cloud’s blood chills.

He’d been careless, so careless. And now Sephiroth is going to pay for his mistakes.

-

Sephiroth flinches as the stack of boxes to the right of his hiding place comes crashing down. The ground vibrates with every step of the monster’s trunklike legs, and he can feel its hot breath against his skin as it snuffles, mere feet away. Something thick and slimy splatters against the floor, though whether it’s saliva or simply the fluid oozing from its tubular tentacles, Sephiroth doesn’t want to know. He’d been too hasty, too proud—he’d thought he’d simply be able to rush in, grab Cloud, and guide the clearly disoriented man to safety, somewhere without all this green fog poisoning him and making him cough up blood—

(he ignores the thought that Hojo would never let Cloud leave, not after he’s set his sights on him, no matter what he promises)

The monster knocks away the stack of boxes Sephiroth is hiding behind with a victorious screech, and Sephiroth scrambles backwards, dodging the first swipe of its enormous tusks, each thicker than the waist of a fully-grown man. He didn’t bring a weapon—he has no way of delaying his death—

Its gaping mouth descends toward Sephiroth, and he has nowhere to go, backed against the walls as he is, and—

There’s a resonating _clang_ as its tusks clash against unyielding metal, and Cloud _snarls_ as he flings the monster away as easily as he’d sent the walls flying away, earlier, every inch an avenging angel descended to exact his wrath on the thing that dared touch the one under his protection.

The monster squeals as it careens into the wall, heavy body crumpling metal as it slides to the ground. Shaking its head, it staggers clumsily to its feet, bulging eyes rolling madly in its sockets.

“Cloud—” Sephiroth gasps, also clambering to his feet.

“Stay behind me,” Cloud orders tersely.

Sephiroth opens his mouth to protest, not even sure what he’s going to say, but Cloud shoots him a grim, determined smile, more a grimace than anything with the trickle of blood decorating the corner of his bottom lip.

“Everything’ll be fine,” Cloud says, then erupts into motion.

Sephiroth has never seen Cloud fight all-out before, but even his basic practice stances display grace with every move. Now, even choking on his own blood, Cloud is simply awe-inspiring.

He’s nearly too fast for Sephiroth to follow, but his vision is just enhanced enough to catch Cloud dart forward to meet the monster as it charges, sliding underneath to send two— _two,_ when did he even split his sword—blades carving through its lower belly. The monster recoils and flails wildly with its tentacles, bellowing in pain, and Cloud emerges from the other side and catapults himself over its back, slicing one off in the process. He’s almost more agile in the air than he is on the ground, twisting around to kick off another lunging tentacle before spiraling over the monster’s head, and the larger of his two swords tears through its mustard-yellow eyes and sends a neon green-yellow ooze splattering to the floor. The monster’s tail—a scaly, snakelike limb with its own mouth and fangs—whips around with deadly speed to slam into Cloud mid-air, who manages to bring up his blades to block just in time, but is still sent crashing into a nearby wall.

“Cloud!” Sephiroth screams.

Cloud staggers back up, but falls onto his hands and knees, limbs quaking, heaving up more blood with gut-wrenching hacking. The stench of bile and sickly blood reaches Sephiroth’s sensitive nose, and he feels like he might be sick, too.

The wounds inflicted on the monster’s head and belly seal with an oozing _hiss._ The yellow beam of its gaze focuses onto Sephiroth, attention drawn by his cry. As it lowers its head and stomps its feet, preparing to charge once more, Cloud yells, “Get out of the way!”

The monster lunges. Sephiroth grits his teeth and runs like he’s never run before—he _won’t_ fail Cloud, not with how hard he’s fighting to keep Sephiroth safe—

A green blade of energy howls as it speeds by Sephiroth, whizzing through where he’d been mere nanoseconds ago to slam into the monster’s face. It sends the monster skidding back, but doesn’t seem to do much damage otherwise, only infuriating the beast further as it shrieks wildly. More tentacles burst from its back, sending slime spraying across the ground.

“Fucking _gross,”_ Cloud growls as he swiftly tugs Sephiroth behind him again.

“You swore,” leaves Sephiroth’s lips, dumbly.

Each pool of slime convulses once, twice, before gathering into gooey amalgamations of eyes and tentacles and not much else.

“I think I’m allowed to in this situation. I’ll apologize later. What the _hell_ goes on in Hojo’s mind when he makes these things, I’ll never know—”

He grunts as he slices through one of the slime-monsters as it rockets toward them, sending it splattering back into formless goo.

As if on cue, the rest of the monsters launch themselves forward as well.

“Take this.” Cloud hands him one of his smallest blades before spinning back around to slice cleanly through the closest monster.

Sephiroth gapes. Cloud’s never let him _touch_ his sword before, much less wield a piece. “But—”

Cloud smirks back at him. “Use it well.”

Cloud does a fair job of reengaging the largest beast, but his movements are definitely slower, stiffer, and his mouth is drawn tight with pain. Sephiroth, for his part, does his best to use his new blade to fend off its slimy spawn, gritting his teeth whenever his strikes fall awry. It’s completely foreign compared to his favored katana—too short, too wide, curved wrong—but it is, at least, approximately the correct weight. He keeps Cloud’s battle in the corner of his awareness and focuses on distracting the creatures from attacking the flagging man.

They form from the main monster’s very mass—with each created, the beast grows a bit smaller. Soon, they stop spawning altogether. Sephiroth fervently hopes it signifies that the creature is too weak to do anything but fend off Cloud’s still-formidable assault.

As Sephiroth finally sends the final slime sailing to splatter against a wall, he hears a gurgling squeal as Cloud drives his sword—a single large blade once more—deep into the prone monster’s throat. Ignoring the resulting gush of thick, green-tinged blood that paints his clothing when he pulls it out, he stumbles over to Sephiroth, sword-tip nearly dragging on the ground.

Sephiroth, rather slime-covered himself, slams into him halfway. “Cloud!”

“Are you okay?” Cloud asks, dropping his sword to clutch Sephiroth’s shoulders tightly. His voice is hoarse and even quieter than usual, as if he’d been screaming for an extended period of time.

“I’m fine,” Sephiroth says, “but _you’re_ not.” In all the time he’s known him, Sephiroth has never seen the stoic man move in a manner anything but fluid, much less treat his sword in such a careless manner. It’s worrying.

Cloud shakes his head. “Never mind me. Why are you here? Did Hojo trap you? Gods, I thought he had an active investment in keeping you at least _alive—”_

“Not… exactly,” Sephiroth hedges.

“What—”

Cloud’s question is interrupted by the sound of clapping. Hojo approaches them with an arrogant stride, flanked by an entourage of dark-suited Turks, each equipped with a buglike gas mask protecting them from the still-thick mako vapor clouding the air.

“Very good, Sephiroth,” Hojo says. “You truly are my most perfect creation.”

Cloud growls low in his chest. “Sephiroth isn’t your creation, he—”

“As for you,” Hojo says, turning to regard him, an appraising look in his eye, “you will make quite the fascinating specimen.”

“In your fucking _dreams—”_ Cloud breaks into another coughing fit, this one even harsher than the last.

“You said you’d let him go if I succeeded!” Sephiroth accuses, grasping Cloud’s arm as he nearly collapses. Blood stains the ground in front of them.

“Oh? Why, yes, I do seem to recall saying I would be lenient if you succeeded in demonstrating that I have not wasted my time on you. Very well, then—I have one more lesson for you to learn in order for you to reach your true potential. I am a man of my word, after all.” Hojo spreads his arms out. “Watch closely, boy… this is what happens when you are _weak_ and rely on creatures beneath you.”

“What?” Sephiroth says, flummoxed.

“No— _Sephiroth!”_

The floor suddenly disappears from beneath Sephiroth’s feet as a force hits him like a ton of bricks, sending him flying through the air. His instincts kick in a second later, and he tucks and rolls, up on his feet in a single fluid motion. But then he catches sight of the scene in front of him, and—

Blood wells from Cloud’s mouth as he coughs—not a fit, only once, a single terrible, wet, hacking cough, blood bubbling and spilling onto the ground, a scarlet waterfall. His hands clutch weakly at the single thick tentacle wedged in his chest, right where his heart would be (if it hadn’t been torn apart, crushed, _gone)._ The monster’s tentacle (it had been dead, why wasn’t it _dead)_ pulls loose with a wet _splorch,_ sending more blood splattering across the floor and leaving a gaping hole—

“Intriguing,” Hojo observes, terrifyingly detached. “Any accelerated healing due to mako should have been compromised by the compounds absorbed through respiration, yet it is sustaining its struggles for a significantly longer period than projected…”

“You—fucking—bastard,” Cloud grits out, more blood spilling from his lips.

“Don’t talk!” Sephiroth cries, finally forcing his frozen legs to move and carry him over to Cloud’s side. He clutches at Cloud’s hand, which squeezes back with a frighteningly light touch. “Cloud—”

Hojo reaches into the pocket of his lab coat and pulls out a PHS, pressing a few buttons before bringing it up to his mouth. “Send in a crew to collect the specimen. One for clean up, as well—it bled all over the place. Yes, you incompetent buffoon, of course I want it preserved—”

“I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault—you saved me—” Sephiroth resists the urge to press his hands against the wound, knowing that it will only cause Cloud more pain.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud breathes. “Not—your fault. It was… a trap. I—I’m glad you’re not hurt—”

Sephiroth doesn’t think he’s ever hated Hojo more. Not even when he suspected (realized) that Cloud has experienced the mad scientist’s depraved experiments before. Footsteps thunder closer—the clean-up crew, Sephiroth thinks disdainfully. He pulls Cloud closer. They’ll touch him over Sephiroth’s dead body.

“Well, hurry it up,” Hojo snaps. “The longer you take, the less optimal its condition will be.”

When one of the rubber-suit clad men leans in with a large needle, though, Sephiroth lashes out, hitting his leg with a loud _crack,_ and snarls, “Get away from him!”

The man falls with a howl, dropping the needle to clutch at his broken leg.

Hojo scolds, “Don’t be a fool, boy, he won’t survive without my treatment—”

Cloud gasps—only a slight, sharp intake of air, but it draws Sephiroth’s attention anyway. His hands suddenly tingle with a strange sort of warmth from where they are in contact with Cloud’s body—not unlike the feeling of healing magic, he thinks—and to his shock, he realizes that Cloud is turning blurry at the edges, like an out-of-focus photograph. Green beads of light appear and slowly float upwards, Cloud’s weight growing lighter and lighter as he fades.

“What—impossible!” Hojo shrieks. “No—after all this hard work—it can’t possibly be—hurry up with the injection!”

Sephiroth knows this happens, of course—all dead beings dissolve into green light, which some superstitious folk believe signifies their return to the Lifestream. But it’s supposed to take place _after_ death, and it takes up to hours or even days; he’s read analytical reports on an increase in time over the past decade or so, with some corpses now taking up to several days to disappear.

Sephiroth grasps desperately at the green lights, which slip uselessly through his fingers. “No—Cloud, you can’t _leave_ me, you _promised_ everything would be fine—”

Cloud’s hand, now more transparent than not, gently brushes his hair behind his ear. “My time’s up,” he says. “But yours isn’t. You’ll be fine…”

“Cloud—!”

Cloud’s image wavers once, twice, then shatters into a million tiny green shards of light.

“NO!” Hojo howls.

So does Sephiroth.

-

Sephiroth stares blankly at his reflection in the one-way mirror. A detached corner of his brain buzzes ceaselessly, betraying the white noise of the rest of his mind.

“You see, boy? You have no need for friends.”

There’s a streak of Cloud’s blood on his cheekbone, where the man had brushed against it pushing Sephiroth’s hair back. It’s a dark, violent red—redder than the blood of any monster Sephiroth has seen.

(including himself)

“They will all fail you in the end, because they are weak.”

Is it because their blood has been so diluted with chemicals they are no longer creatures of Gaia? Perhaps it is just Cloud, who is—was—a unique being all of his own. Or maybe it is because it is his lifeblood, thick and full of vitality as it pumped through his veins.

(until it didn’t, until it spilled out of Cloud’s body and onto the floor until he was limp and drained as a rag doll)

_“Sentiment_ makes them weak. You must cast it aside.”

If _sentiment_ is what causes him to feel this way, for once he can agree with Hojo. He wants to cut out the part of his chest that aches, that aches so hard he struggles to breathe, even if it means he will never feel again. _Especially_ if it means he will never feel again.

“You are nothing less than a _god,_ and gods are, above all, singular and above companionship.”

Sephiroth shuts his eyes, so he cannot see the red of the blood against the white of his skin and the green of his eyes, the same shade of poisonous green as the fog that had cost Cloud his life.

“Let this be a lesson to you—do not reduce yourself to their level.”

Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can shut Hojo’s voice out, too. For a second, Sephiroth thinks his hope actually worked, but then he realizes that Hojo’s slimy voice has merely lowered into a mumble.

“How clever, for the Planet to steal away its prized creature from right under my nose.”

For a moment, selfishly, he wishes that the Planet _hadn’t_ taken Cloud away, that Sephiroth had let Hojo take Cloud and perform his experiments on him. Then, maybe, Cloud might still be alive. Then he shudders at the vile thought, almost able to feel the mako taint crawling through his very veins.

He must really be a monster to have wished Hojo on _anyone,_ much less the only person he loves

(loved?)

_(but then again, monsters are incapable of feeling love)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a very bad habit of killing off my favorite characters, and in the same way, too. what can i say, cloud's easy to bully because gaia won't let him die u_u


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all your kudos/comments/bookmarks etc! i was not expecting this warm of a reception for this lmao, and instead of risking sounding like a broken record in the comments section i'd just like to say that i read and appreciate each and every kind message you all leave <3
> 
> some of you might recognize the first part in this chapter. yes, that was from this fic

It began approximately a decade after the reactor’s construction concluded.

 _Mako-tainted,_ they were called, a term that soon gained synonymy with _miscarried_ or _stillborn._ Many were born just that, pale and blue with—not death, because they’d never even lived to begin with, but simply a lack of life, eerily glowing eyes both vivid and blank at the same time. Others would live a few days, perhaps a week, still and cold but for their feverishly bright eyes, pupils dark and dilated and empty. The only difference between the former and the latter was the shallow rise and fall of the chest, a slow up-down-up-down movement that grew gradually weaker and weaker until one could barely distinguish when it grew to a halt.

The townspeople fidgeted and whispered nervously of omens, because Nibelheim may have forgotten the old gods since ShinRa came, but even those unfamiliar with the old ways could never ignore godly wrath.

When Claudia Strife’s baby boy was born on August 11th, 1986, no one expected him to live past the end of the night.

“The taint is strong in this one,” the midwife murmured to the mayor over the howling of the snowstorm outside, wiping her bloodied hands on a warm washcloth. “Look at its eyes. Far too bright. Poor thing,” she added with a pitying glance at the distraught mother.

But the infant lived—past the night, past the following day, past the end of the week and into the next. Past the snowstorm, which broke on the dawn of the 19th and brought with it gasping sobs from the tiny boy’s mouth—not the wailing or screaming of a normal child, but wracking, mourning tears of sorrow.

The midwife, flummoxed, pronounced him perfectly healthy, if a bit pale and underweight.

Claudia cried tears of joy and praised the gods—Freyja, for blessing the fruit of her womb; Thor, for the guidance of his storm; Odin, for his wisdom and magical power, as is proper due to the Allfather. And most importantly, Hel, for sparing her child’s life. Then she prayed to her patron goddess, Skaði, in askance of blessing and guidance for her son, for Claudia’s mother had ensured that she never forgot their family’s roots even as all her friends around her had, thrilled by the handsome and exciting foreigners and their customs from the next continent over, and she would ensure that her son would never forget, either.

Watching the clouds part way for sunshine as bright and golden as her baby boy’s hair as he opened his sky-blue eyes, Claudia named him _Cloud,_ in honor of the vicious storm they’d weathered, and in hopes of giving him the strength to endure future storms to come.

The others turned and whispered behind raised hands of her heathen practices—of course she’d conceived out of wedlock, she was a _witch—_ she must have sacrificed the lives of all those other babies to her strange pagan gods to spare her own— _watch out or you’ll be the next one ol’ witchy Strife snatches away,_ the children hissed to each other, half-teasing, half-terrified.

Of all the children born with glowing eyes, Cloud was the only one to survive past the first week.

And so, thirteen years passed in the small, sleepy town of Nibelheim.

-

For the first time in over a decade, Sephiroth is afraid. The Wutai soldiers hiss among themselves—debating his fate, no doubt—

He closes his eyes, trying to shut out their sneering faces and half-awed, half-disgusted looks. He had decimated almost all of their squadron buying time for the rest of his SOLDIERs to retreat, after all. Now, he is exhausted. Drenched with blood—most of it not his but for a large wound in his side, fatal for anyone else, and the tendons in his left arm brutally severed by a lucky shot. They have restrained him with steel wire, chains, rope—clearly still afraid of the Silver Demon’s inhuman (monstrous) strength—

 _(“You can choose what kind of person you want to be. Those who choose to do bad things, and drag down others with them… they’re the real monsters,”_ Cloud says, a hand gently smoothing Sephiroth’s hair back. The other brushes Sephiroth’s chest, right over his beating heart. _“You—your heart is human. And that’s what matters.”)_

 _You made my heart human,_ Sephiroth wants to say back, thirteen years later. _You saved me._ But it’s too late. Cloud is gone, dead, and he took Sephiroth’s heart with him.

Perhaps dying would not be so bad, Sephiroth muses. Perhaps Cloud would even be waiting for him. But—

 _(“You’ll be fine,”_ Cloud urges with his dying breath. So Sephiroth has to be.)

His eyes shoot back open, sending the surrounding enemies reeling backwards with startled shouts, and he begins struggling against his bonds, ignoring the pain threatening to black out his vision. _This is nothing compared to Hojo,_ he tells himself, snapping the rope and the chains and the wire. _You have to live._

Several soldiers launch themselves towards him, weapons bared like fangs. A katana goes through his shoulder. A shuriken in his right thigh. _Cloud._

A Wutai soldier right in his face snarls, shoving something cold and metal in his stomach. _Where are you, Cloud?_

His vision blurs and darkens. _Cloud._

_-_

_Come to me, puppet._

_-_

An entire continent away, a blond teen groans and clutches his head, pain erupting behind his eyes, sending angry red streaking through his vision. The pain spreads through his entire body, intensifying behind his shoulders as they begin to bleed, and he falls to the floor, an anguished cry ripping from his throat.

Footsteps thud up the stairs, and the door bursts open. “Cloud?!” His mother gasps, panicked. “Cloud! What’s wrong?!”

“He’s calling…” Cloud gasps, doubled over on the floor. “He’s in danger. I—”

“Cloud!”

“Sephiroth—” His head falls limply back, hair scattering as he faints.

_“Cloud!”_

-

Sephiroth opened his eyes blearily to see… white?

Around him, the Wutaian resistance fighters are uttering shocked gasps and awed mutters.

He blinks once, twice—surprised to be still somewhat intact—and his vision clears. He sees—

Blond hair, fluffy and golden. Black clothes. White wings—

But something is wrong. They are marred, bedraggled, streaked with blood.

He opens his mouth, and “Cloud?” slips out, unbidden.

The wall of bloodied feathers rustles and parts, and the kneeling figure before him turns, revealing blue eyes and an achingly familiar face.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud answers, his voice as low and rough just as Sephiroth remembers, but he avoids meeting Sephiroth's gaze and turns away again. Though he may appear impassive to the untrained eye, Sephiroth knows Cloud well enough to see the stress lines around his eyes, the tight set of his jaw, the pallid tone of his skin. The minute trembling of his muscles.

Cloud is in pain.

Sephiroth growls in the back of his throat—if any of the soldiers have _hurt_ Cloud—

But no. They are cringing away—not in fright, but with a strangely reverent look in their eyes. One of them, most likely their leader, steps forward—not a challenge, but a bid for attention—and says something to Cloud, who answers in kind, voice firm, unwavering, giving none of his pain away. Sephiroth’s Wutaian is only good enough to comprehend the basics—greetings, directions, military tactics. He cannot understand their strange words. But he knows they are talking about him.

Finally, they seem to reach an accord, and their leader barks an order to retreat. Several of them, disgruntled, cast Sephiroth looks of pure hatred, but the shifting of Cloud’s wings, outstretched in a clearly protective manner, sends them quickly scurrying away. Only when the last of them has long disappeared from sight do his wings fold back from their arched position. They flutter and twitch awkwardly before settling, clearly painful, and Sephiroth realizes with a start that the blood staining them is _Cloud’s._

Cloud falls back tiredly with a huff, blowing long bangs out of his face. They sit there for one moment, two, before he plucks a Restore materia seemingly from thin air, arm trembling slightly even from that simple movement. Sephiroth startles as Cloud wordlessly begins healing Sephiroth’s wounds, shivering from the still-familiar flood of warmth—no one else’s Cures ever feel quite like Cloud’s had— _do,_ now, and sudden elation floods him at that thought—

When Cloud finishes, he hands it to him, still not quite meeting Sephiroth's gaze. Before Sephiroth can return the favor, Cloud holds a hand up, halting him. “You don’t have one, right? Keep it.”

“You are hurt. Let me heal you.”

“Won’t work.” Cloud shuts his eyes, looking exhausted. “I’m not really here.”

Sephiroth stays silent. He does not understand.

“My physical body,” Cloud clarifies, opening one eye to look at him. “It couldn’t follow when you called me here.”

“I called you here?” Sephiroth repeats, bewildered.

“Yes. You were in danger, and called. I answered.”

Suddenly, Sephiroth feels a surge of anger. “If it was as simple as that, why did you not answer earlier? I called for you many, many times as a child. But you never came.”

The corners of Cloud’s mouth pull down. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why,” Sephiroth demands like a petulant child, but he cannot help it.

Cloud gestures to his twitching, bloodied wings. “My body wasn’t ready to answer. Even now, I shouldn’t have—but your call this time…” He grimaces. “It was overwhelming.”

“You mean your wings… they're like that because of me.”

Cloud sighs and finally meets his eyes directly, blue on green. Something strange flashes through the depths of Cloud's eyes, and Sephiroth thinks it might be something like fear—not pure mindless terror, but wariness. One predator recognizing the strength of another. But then the look is gone, almost quick enough for him to think he imagined it, and—

“Don’t blame yourself. I chose to come. You wouldn’t have died—that’s not what…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly. Cloud reaches out, slow and hesitant as his fingers hover barely an inch from Sephiroth’s face, and for a moment, Sephiroth thinks he might tuck Sephiroth’s bangs behind his ears and smile, soft and sweet as he often did all those years ago. But then he withdraws his hand and looks away. “You aren’t hurt anywhere else, are you?”

“No,” Sephiroth answers, then immediately wishes he weren’t so stiff. “Your healing was more than sufficient.”

“I… I’m glad.” Cloud’s voice is quiet and almost wondering, and Sephiroth, for the life of him, can’t figure out why he is acting so strange.

Sephiroth reaches out on his own, this time, but jerks back in the next moment, alarmed. “Your hand is fading.”

“Oh.” Cloud blinks down at his transparent fingers. “... My time must be up.”

“What?” Panic begins rising from somewhere deep in his chest, his throat closing up. “You just came back to me, and you’re leaving already?”

Cloud shakes his head. “I have to. The Planet—”

“She’s taking you again, isn’t she,” Sephiroth snarls and snatches Cloud’s arm, and it feels startlingly thin within his grasp. Cloud flinches back, but Sephiroth is unrelenting. “She always takes you away. She did back then, and she is now. I _hate_ her!”

“Sephiroth—!”

“She’s not allowed to take you away! I won’t let her. You’re _mine.”_

Sephiroth’s last sight of Cloud is his eyes widening in shocked terror, before his grip tightens around nothing. Just like over thirteen years ago, Cloud has dissolved into nothing more than glowing green light. But this time—

“I’ll take you back, Cloud,” Sephiroth vows. “I swear it.”

-

An entire continent away in Nibelheim, Cloud presses his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet seat, the stench of bile coating his mouth. His muscles scream as if they have been stripped from his bones, stretched taut, and then hastily glued back on. There is a bone-deep ache in each joint.

For a moment—unmistakably—Sephiroth’s eyes, slitted and burning, had shown JENOVA’s taint. They’d run him through, torn him open, left him painfully exposed and shuddering as easily as Masamune could, and for a moment he’d seen _Sephiroth the god_ instead of Sephiroth the child, small and wide-eyed, shivering and lonely and wondering _I’m not human, am I._ But that’s impossible—he still remembers JENOVA’s screeches echoing shrilly in his head as he’d brutally burned her to less than ashes, the taste of smoke clogging his mouth and nose, choking and bitter and acidic.

JENOVA is no more. (JENOVA has to be no more.)

Upon waking back in his body, he’d been surprised to find himself lying on his bed, washed clean of blood and dressed simply in pajama bottoms. When he’d finally mustered the strength to sit up, white-feathered wings had dragged behind him, a deadweight on his back as scourged nerves fired and twitched and spasmed. He’d managed to stumble his way into the bathroom on too-short yet too-long legs, his mind remembering being fully-grown but his body used to being scrawny and thirteen, before he had given in to his stomach’s churning and emptied its sparse contents into the toilet several times over.

Slowly, warily, he lifts his body (still painful, still _foreign)_ from its sprawl and carefully places one foot on the floor, then the other. He grits his teeth and lifts himself up—

He slumps against the sink with something like relief. After a few moments, he straightens and braces himself against it. Catching his _(young, too young)_ reflection in the cracked mirror, he narrows his eyes and watches glowing blue eyes narrow back. They are bright, brighter than they ever had been, _before,_ and flecked with green (green like leaves, green like Aerith’s eyes, green like the Lifestream) and gold (gold like chocobos, gold like his hair. Gold like—)

 _WEAPON,_ Gaia murmurs in the back of his skull.

And Cloud shuts his eyes, erasing his reflection from his sight.

He hadn’t been ready.

He hadn’t been ready to see this Sephiroth, grown up and looking every inch like the Sephiroth from _before._

He hadn’t been ready to see his catlike green eyes narrowed in anger and possessiveness.

He hadn’t been ready to hear his commanding voice proclaim _mine._

_My puppet._

-

Once he washes his mouth of the stench of bile and somehow manages to will his wings into disappearance—he should at least try to maintain _some_ semblance of normalcy for his mother—Cloud stumbles downstairs, one hand bracing himself against the wall. When he reaches the bottom, he halts at the sight of his mother, who is seated at the kitchen table with her head in her hands.

(She had been screaming.)

“… Ma,” he says, raspy and quiet.

She jerks her head up, and stares.

Cloud bites his lip, and wants to scream. She looks at him with fear, with awe, with all those unnameable, innumerable emotions that everyone had looked at him with, _before._ His own mother.

“Cloud,” she says back, voice wavering. “What—what _happened?_ You were screaming, then you fainted, and I moved you to your bed but there were blood and feathers _everywhere—_ ”

“Ma,” he says again. He sets his jaw and straightens, ignoring the protesting of his back _(the shifting of his wings trapped beneath his skin)._ The wound of his mother’s betrayal, though no fault of her own, is much harder to disregard, but…

Cloud echoes the same thing he’d said in a past lifetime, over a year earlier this time around than he had _then._ “I’m going to Midgar.”

-

The night of his particularly harrowing encounter with Wutai soldiers, Sephiroth lies flat on his back sandwiched between the warm bodies of two other Firsts, listening to the canvas of their tent thwack in the breeze, beating in time to the chirping of crickets. Genesis’s slow, even breaths skim his ear and makes his hair flutter, _in out in out,_ the ebb and flow of an invisible tide. On his other side, Angeal traces aimless patterns on the palm of Sephiroth’s hand, pale and clean, unmarred.

He’d spent the good portion of an hour just scrubbing at them until they were red and raw and bleeding, earlier today. When they’d found him, Genesis had fussed worriedly in the background as Angeal bandaged them with his characteristic gentleness, covering his sins with soft white linen.

 _Unnecessary,_ he’d told them. _It will heal in minutes._

 _Shut up and let us do this for you, you ungrateful bastard,_ Genesis had replied.

Both the bandages and his wounds are long gone. The stains on his soul, however, are much harder to remove; the blood of thousands, both of the enemy and his own troops’, clings stubbornly, dark and thick and cloying. _The multitudinous seas incarnadine,_ he remembers Genesis saying once.

Thirteen years ago, Cloud’s had been the first human blood to drench his hands. Today, Sephiroth had returned the favor, leaving a rose-pink stain where his palm and forefingers had grasped Cloud’s thin forearm tight, fingerprints bright and visible on pale skin as Cloud had desperately tried to tug away, terrified. Of Sephiroth.

(Had his bones always felt so thin, so breakable? Had it always been so easy to trap him in place, with a single hand? Cloud had been a steady, infallible force as free as his namesake, drifting in and out of Sephiroth’s life as he pleased, but he’d always returned to hold Sephiroth up, shield him, until one day he _wasn’t there_ anymore—)

Genesis stirs in his sleep. Sephiroth turns onto his side to face Angeal, quicksilver hair spilling like moonlight over his shoulder, and asks, “Where do angels go when they die?”

Angeal’s fingers pause, and he responds, “Why do you ask?” It’s gentle, non-judgmental, a genuine curious desire to understand.

 _I saw one die, once,_ Sephiroth doesn’t say. _He found and left me again in the span of minutes yesterday. I haven’t thought of him in years; I almost thought he was a dream. But now I need to find him, and I don’t even know how to start._

He doesn’t say, _Sometimes it feels like all I’m running on is hazy memories and a dead hope._

Instead, he says, “I don’t know.”

_I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything anymore._

Some days, he thinks he can almost hear Cloud’s soft laughter, echoing in all the empty gaps in his office, in his apartment, in his heart. Spilling into the cracks of the wall he erected to keep all out.

Angeal hums. “I don’t know, either. We don’t even know what happens to humans when they die, much less angels.”

Sephiroth frowns, but says nothing else.

“Don’t worry,” Angeal says kindly. “I’m sure she’s at peace, wherever she is.”

“He. His name is Cloud.”

Angeal blinks once, twice, then smiles. “He, then. Cloud. A fitting name for an angel.”

Sephiroth swallows, throat suddenly tight. “Yes.”

Noticing Sephiroth’s reluctance to speak further, Angeal begins weaving a tale of his mother, a sweet, gentle woman with enough fire to tame Genesis and stand toe-to-toe with his father, the town mayor, despite her tiny stature. He knows that with Sephiroth’s less-than-ordinary childhood, he relishes any sort of information on family, squirrelling away details into a deep corner of his heart for tiny embers of dreams that smolder unspoken but never unacknowledged.

Sephiroth falls asleep to the low, soothing rumble of Angeal’s voice.

-

Slightly battered from his encounter with Lost Number and the proud owner of a shiny new Odin materia, Cloud heaves the lid off a very special coffin.

“Cloud,” the man lying in the coffin says as he opens his ruby-red eyes. “You are… earlier than I anticipated.”

“Vincent… you remember?”

“ … No. But Chaos is a WEAPON, too. As such, he exists outside of time, just as you do. He deigned several of his memories worth sharing with me.”

Cloud frowns. “‘Too’?”

Vincent’s eyes regard him carefully as he sits up, as if to gauge his reaction. “Yes. Were you unaware?”

“Not really,” Cloud admits. “But I might’ve, uh, been trying to ignore it.”

Vincent nods solemnly. “Inhumanity is a terrible burden to bear.”

Cloud shifts. “Well, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call human _before_ _,_ either. But you and I both… we eventually realized there’s a bit more to being human than your chemical makeup, anyways.”

“I see. I suppose… I should like to be able to discover that for myself, as well,” Vincent says.

Cloud smiles. “So how do you feel about bonfires?”

-

Cloud straggles back home (sans Vincent, who’d disappeared shortly after burning the forged documents in the library to visit Lucrecia’s cave) with the sun just barely peeking over the mountains, painting everything a pale orange-pink as the last few stars slowly fade from sight.

“Cloud!”

Cloud blinks, vision suddenly swallowed by the soft cotton of his mother’s dress. “Ma?”

“Where have you been, young man? It’s so late it’s early!” she scolds. She releases him, leaning back to further inspect him. “What did you do to your clothes? And—is that _blood?”_

Cloud looks down at his tattered clothing. Most of the cuts and bruises on his skin have already disappeared, but the tears and bloodstains on the cloth tell a story of their own.

“You worried me so much!” his mother scolds. “When I said you could go to Midgar, I hope you didn’t think I meant right away! What in the world were you thinking?”

“I just… had to clear my head,” Cloud says. His mother had been worried? He hadn’t thought… Cloud swallows. “Ma, you’re not… afraid of me?”

“Afraid of you? Why in all seven realms would I be afraid of my own son?”

“The… blood,” Cloud says. “And the wings. And my—eyes. Your expression, you looked…” He trails off.

“I was afraid _for_ you, my silly stormcloud. You bled an awful lot, after all.” She pats his cheek and sighs. “Every mother knows her child is special, that her child will do amazing things. I suppose I was just caught a bit by surprise by just _how_ special and amazing you’ll be.”

A tendril of warmth blossoms in his chest. He’d forgotten his mother used to call him that, as spotty and broken as his memories are. He says quietly, “Thanks, Ma.”

She pats his cheek again, then straightens. Part of Cloud is vaguely mortified that his mother has to bend down to look him in the eye. “Well, then,” she says, brisk and businesslike. “If you’re planning on going to Midgar, there are quite a few things you’ll be needing, aren’t there?”

“It’s all right, I have enough money, Ma,” Cloud hurries to say. The gil from the safe should be enough to cover the fare all the way to Junon, if he’s careful, and it shouldn’t be difficult to earn enough for the rest of the journey by killing monsters, or even to just travel on foot. Twin Viper isn’t exactly his best weapon, but it should be more than enough to take down a few monsters.

His mother, however, simply gives him a cutting look. “Don’t be silly, Cloud, you’ll be needing this, of course.” She hands him a long hunting knife sheathed in soft brown leather. In Cloud’s hands, it could even be considered a small sword. “I’ll also be packing as much food as I can fit into your bag. Gods know what sort of cheap fare they’ll be feeding you in the city.”

Cloud studies the knife. The wrapped handle is worn, but clearly well-loved. Had his mother given him this, too, the first time around? “Thanks, Ma—”

“Not so fast, I’m not done yet,” she says, pressing something round and warm into his hands and carefully folding his fingers over it. “I was originally planning on giving you this when you were older, but given everything that’s happened… I think it may be of some use to you. It’ll do more in your hands than gathering dust here with me, at least.”

Cloud uncurls his fingers to reveal, much to his shock, another white materia. This isn’t the one the Planet gave him to use to destroy JENOVA—it’s marble-sized, silver smoke curling in its translucent insides, unlike the bright, solid glow of the other two “white materia” he’s seen. There’s a hole in the center threaded through with a thin leather cord. This, he is certain, his mother has _never_ given him before, yet its weight feels familiar in his hands.

Noticing his questioning gaze, she smiles. “I found it on my first trip back to the caves after you were born. I wasn’t expecting to find anything, really, I was just getting back into shape. But there it was, just sitting there right on the edge of the first pool, easy as pie. The way its insides swirled, like clouds… right away, I knew it was for you. Maybe that’s why…” She shakes her head. “Well, like I said, I knew you were going to be so much more than a shard-picker like me in some backwoods nowhere town, Cloud. You are destined for more than _this.”_

“Ma…” Cloud feels overwhelmed. There’s so much that he never knew, that he’d _forgotten_ about his mother. Her unconditional love, her unwavering support—it reminds him of Tifa, but his mother doesn’t _know_ him anymore, doesn’t have a reason to have so much faith in him. She’s been thrown headlong into something he hasn’t even bothered to explain, could never find the words to explain, yet the way she so unquestioningly _believes—_

“Go on, put it on,” she encourages. “It’s yours now.”

Cloud’s hands tremble as he fumbles slightly with the string, tying it into an awkward knot around his neck. He tries to ignore a similar tremble in his lips, but his mother’s eyes soften.

“Come here, stormcloud.” She pulls him into another hug.

Cloud clutches tight at the lapels of her apron. If her shoulder gets a bit wet, well—

Cloud hasn’t cried in well over a decade, but maybe he’s allowed a few tears before he heads off to face a world both too familiar and not at the same time.

-

The first time he ever came to Midgar, Cloud can vaguely remember gaping at everything like the country hick he’d been. If he’d stepped foot into the slums with his airheaded expression and diminutive stature, he would have been mugged and left for dead by sundown.

It’s a good thing he isn’t the same country hick he used to be then, he decides as he shoulders his pack and _leaps,_ the knife strapped to his thigh a comforting weight. He lands gracefully on top of the train just as it begins its spiraling trek down, down, down into the slums. Despite the green glow of the mako reactors reflected in the smoggy air, his dark clothing disguises him from any prying eyes in the cover of encroaching night.

There’s a saying that those living in the Slums leave through ShinRa or not at all. The pricing of train tickets for non-ShinRa employees just confirms this statement—cheap as dirt to go below the Plate, exorbitantly high to go back above. Cloud’s too young to apply for any ShinRa program, much less able to meet the height and weight requirements, but luckily for him, as clumsy and untrained as his young body may be, the glow of his eyes indicates that it has just as much mako as his old one, maybe even more, making hitching a ride via traintop as well as sneaking between and out of Sectors fairly simple.

He’s also not worried about money if he needs to make the trip legally at least once or twice; the right monster parts sell for a hefty price at Wall Market, which also doubles as a great place for information. His thirteen-year-old appearance is all the more likely to make people underestimate him.

He won’t be leaving for a while anyways. Aerith is here. _Zack_ is here. And he’ll be damned if he’s caught sitting around on his ass in Nibelheim when something might happen to them somehow as a result of his meddling in time.

When the train finally comes to a rattling halt, no one gives the small, grimy child a second glance as he weaves skillfully through the crowd. Days of travel and some strategically applied mud have dulled his gold-bright hair to a dirty blond and left dark streaks on his pale skin. Along with his tattered clothes and shifty gaze, he looks just like any other scruffy street urchin out to pick pockets. And if they happen to catch a glimpse of his eyes—well, he’s just another Slum orphan experimenting with mako drugs. _Shine,_ they’re calling the new drug hitting the streets, for its temporary effect on the eyes of those caught in the throes of its high.

(Cloud remembers the troubling effects withdrawal had on the populace in the wake of Meteorfall, when there weren’t any more reactor waste products to produce the highly addictive drug. As the supply had rapidly dwindled to nothing, its cost had shot through the roof. Eventually, people had started paying in things more costly than money.)

As he wanders lost in thought, some deep-ingrained instinct leads Cloud’s feet directly to the Sector 5 church as he seeks shelter for the night. The Slums are permanently dim, lit only by weak sunlight filtering through holes in the Plate by day and eerie, flickering lamplight by night, but there’s something about the witching hour that beckons to the desperate and unsavory. Cloud is fairly confident that he could take three, maybe even four fully-grown men, but he doesn’t quite trust himself to take on any more yet without having to resort to bringing Odin down on their heads, as awkward as his body is now. Sometimes, he still catches himself overextending with his scrawny limbs, and a mistake like that can be fatal in a fight where he is significantly outnumbered.

He comes to a halt in front of the familiar heavy wooden doors, taking a moment to absorb just how _different_ the church looks. It’s much newer than Cloud has ever seen it, even the first time he met Aerith, unworn by time. The roof only has a small hole for sunlight, not yet enlarged by any SOLDIERs falling through from above. Its walls stand intact, not yet battered by the destruction of Midgar or a vicious fight with Remnants. Almost afraid that his touch will shatter the peaceful image, he nudges the doors open.

He doesn’t want to bother Aerith, not with how young she will be, not to mention the inevitable attention he'll attract from the Turks. But it’s too late to turn back and find somewhere else to stay before midnight.

 _One night,_ he promises himself. _Just one night, then I’ll be gone._

Of course, as things are wont to do when it comes to someone so aptly named _Strife,_ nothing goes to plan. It starts with a certain pretty brunette girl spinning around to greet him cheerfully from a plot of newly blooming flower plants.

“Oh, it’s finally you! Hello! You’re late, silly. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, you know.”

“Aerith?” Cloud blinks several times, trying to process. Distantly, he wonders just how many people _know_ him. _First Vincent, and now Aerith? Who next? Zack?_

She hums an affirmative. “You know, I was kind of expecting someone… taller. And less dirt-covered. But you're cuter than I expected, too! Hey, that's not bad at all. I've always wanted a little brother to dress up in my old clothes— _after_ you shower, that is.”

It's with a slow dawning horror that he realizes that fourteen-year-old Aerith Gainsborough has a full inch-and-a-half on thirteen-year-old Cloud Strife, and she is perfectly willing to exploit it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all wanted cloud to dress up but unfortunately you're gonna have to be a little more patient for that
> 
> hope you all enjoy anyways <3
> 
> edit: [thefruitloopchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefruitloopchan/pseuds/thefruitloopchan) made super adorable art for the first scene and i'm crying over it, you can check it out [here](https://sta.sh/0151qw6altu7)!

“So… how did you—recognize me?” Cloud asks after Aerith wrangles him back to her house for a shower and change of clothes. He shifts slightly from his perch on the couch as Aerith runs a comb through his now mud-free hair. She’s offered him an old t-shirt and pair of shorts to wear for now, but he has no doubt that she’s going to get him in one of her old dresses sooner or later.

“I've been having dreams of a blond man dressed all in black for as long as I can remember,” Aerith says through her mouthful of hairtie. “And then a few days ago, the Planet kind of… shuddered? She seemed excited, but also afraid, too. And she told me to come here to meet someone important. Right away, I knew she meant _you._ At first I wasn’t sure because you were all muddy and more, uh, solid, but your eyes—they’ve got the same fire. Tilt your head to the left for me, will you?”

Cloud sighs but follows the gentle tug of her hands in his still-damp hair. He’d forgotten to cut it short in his haste to leave for Midgar as soon as possible, and Aerith is taking full advantage of the opportunity.

“So what has the Planet told you so far?”

“Well,” Aerith says, “you're from the future, aren't you? One where the world burns and the Lifestream vaporizes in the heat. So the Planet sent you back to change things. At least, that’s what I dreamed about.”

“Sorry,” Cloud feels compelled to say. “Those aren’t… very nice things to have dreams about as a kid.”

“It’s not your fault, dumbass.” Aerith smacks the side of Cloud’s head lightly, then ties off the end of the plait in his hair. She tugs at his shoulders, making him face her. “You’ve lost a lot, haven’t you? Your friends, your family… and now the Planet is making you do it all over again. You’re not the one who should be sorry.”

Cloud shrugs. “I might not have had a choice, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

“You’re exactly like the Planet said you would be,” Aerith says. “Selfless, forgiving—almost to the point of thoughtlessness. Should I be worried?”

Cloud can feel a slight burn to his cheeks. “Probably. I don’t exactly have a great track record.”

Aerith tilts her head, scanning him. “Well, maybe… I don’t think so, actually. What was that you said that day—there’s nothing you don’t cherish, right? She chose you for a reason—she trusts you to stand by your vow to _protect,_ no matter the odds.”

Cloud bites his lip. It's not right that this young Aerith has so much trust in his abilities when he failed to _protect_ her older counterpart. He doesn’t quite blame himself anymore—there were circumstances out of his control, he understands that now—but he isn’t exactly some infallible paragon of a guardian, either. There are many things he simply cannot do. “Aerith, I’m not—I can't…”

“I know what happened,” Aerith says, “but just intent can go a long way. You’ve never fallen to hate, despite all your suffering. You’ve never forsaken us—isn’t that enough? Besides, that’s what this second chance is for, isn’t it?”

“ … Right.”

It’s his friends who’d made him _enough_ , as Aerith puts it. They’d never stand to let him forsake them—they’d dragged him kicking and screaming from the depths he’d so often wallowed in, forced him to face his struggles head-on instead of running away. The least he could do is honor their memory and not let their efforts go to waste. He came back to fix things; he’s got to at least try, no matter his reservations. He can’t do that if he sits around moping all day. Tifa will undoubtedly find a way to punch him from the afterlife if he forgets that invaluable lesson.

Aerith smiles, reaching for something in the array of hair accessories by her side before turning him back around to face away from her. “So, how are we gonna go about saving the world this time?”

“ … We?”

“Of course _we._ You need me around to kick your ass into gear, after all,” Aerith says. “You’ll be staying here with Mom and me, obviously. Just think about trying to sneak around behind my back and you’ll regret it, mister.”

Cloud doesn’t bother arguing; the only breath he affords to waste is the sigh he heaves. “All right, then.”

“So.” Aerith tugs on a stray lock hanging by his ear. “What do you plan on doing?”

“For now? Train, mostly. I’m not used to this body.”

“And after that? Are you planning on joining ShinRa again?” Aerith asks, sounding almost hesitant.

“ … No,” Cloud decides, vaguely recalling from Zack’s memories that Aerith had been wary of ShinRa for the longest time before they met, and rightly so. He doesn’t want to make her or her mother uncomfortable. “I’d never be able to get through testing without them noticing how much mako I have. It’s fine though. I wouldn’t be able to get much done while stuck there anyways.”

“I see. But wouldn’t it be easier to, you know, deal with Sephiroth if you were there?”

Cloud shrugs. “Actions in ShinRa Tower will be closely monitored. It’s easier to just work from the outside. Besides, the age requirement is fifteen. Last time, when I was old enough to join… it was already too late for Sephiroth.”

“What are you planning on doing about him, anyways? The Planet still wants you to kill him with extreme prejudice. Maybe even more than before. She _felt_ the resonance between you two those few days ago, Cloud. To say the least, she’s been panicking about your connection to JENOVA through him. That materia was supposed to have gotten rid of the Calamity’s consciousness completely.”

“I’m not gonna kill him if I can help it. But…” Cloud swallows, mouth dry. “I think Hojo is still doing something. That felt like—like _Reunion._ Sephiroth’s eyes…” He shudders. He’d hoped to never see those eyes again outside of his nightmares.

“So?” Aerith prods.

Cloud sighs. “Assassinating Hojo won’t work. There’s a line of mad scientists ready to take his place. He has a nasty habit of not staying dead, either, and then who knows what bullshit he'll get up to unsupervised? It’ll also bring all of ShinRa full force down on our heads, and that’s the last thing we want. What we need instead is to get ShinRa to stop funding human and mako experimentation altogether, but that’ll need the cooperation of more than a few groups of people and a lot more time than we currently have.”

“Too bad,” Aerith says wistfully. “Killing Hojo would have been fun.”

“ … Anyways,” Cloud says in lieu of agreeing, “in about a year, his two best friends will desert ShinRa when they start degrading. Sephiroth was… well. It wasn’t great.” Sephiroth has never had much of his own to cherish, and as a result feels their loss that much more keenly; just looking at how he'd reacted a few days ago when Cloud had been about to disappear is proof enough of that. Ultimately, it had been the loneliness and hurt from his best friends' abandonment coupled with the direct confirmation of his inhuman nature that had made Sephiroth so ready to condemn humanity, and that is what Cloud has to work towards preventing at all costs. “I think it's important that they figure out all the bullshit going on with their origins, but… if those two trust Sephiroth with what’s going on, maybe whatever Hojo’s planning won’t work. Hell, if we’re lucky, maybe Sephiroth will leave _with_ them.”

Aerith hums in agreement. “That’s actually a good idea. Who knew that the great Sephiroth went cray-cray because he felt left out by his besties?”

Cloud decides it’s better to just ignore her comment. “So, this is where you come in.”

“Why, is the great hero asking little old me for help?” Aerith is smug, Cloud can tell. “All right, what do you need me to do?”

-

“Aerith,” Cloud says one night, almost so quiet Aerith misses it, “you said Gaia got rid of my connection to JENOVA."

“That’s right,” Aerith says, peering over the edge of her bed at the boy curled up on a pile of blankets on the ground. “You didn’t bring your body back with you when you travelled back in time, only your soul. So it was a lot easier for Gaia to do some housekeeping.”

Cloud scowls down at his blankets. “But I still felt it. The connection, when Sephiroth grabbed me. Do you think, maybe…"

Aerith blinks. “Cloud?”

He sighs and sits up, pulling off his shirt as he does so. Aerith watches his shoulder blades flex once, twice, then suddenly, two large white wings erupt from his back, sending feathers flying everywhere.

Aerith covers her mouth, unable to put her thoughts into words. “Oh, Cloud…”

“I know,” he says miserably. “I guess Gaia failed, then.”

“Clearly, all Gaia failed with was screwing your head back on straight,” Aerith finally says. “They’re beautiful.”

“Sephiroth had a wing, too,” Cloud says, eyes distant. “A black one, on his right side. According to the reports, Genesis grew one too, because of his degradation. Also black, but on his left. Even Angeal had two on the same side, one large, one small… both white. How can _this_ be beautiful? All they mean is that somehow, I've still got JENOVA in me.” He gestures roughly at his wings as they flutter agitatedly.

Aerith sighs. “I don’t know, but… you never had any before, did you? The Planet must have given them to you, then. After all, the others were all, you know, a bit short of a full set. For you to have both, it’s probably… symbolic or something. You kicked that alien bitch in the face and came up with something better for yourself. More complete.”

Cloud frowns. His wings twitch some more.

“You don’t have to accept them right away,” Aerith says gently. “But you should know… they don’t make you like _him_ at all, Cloud. Far from it. For one… he’s much taller.”

Cloud rolls his eyes, still looking dubious, but lays back down on his stomach, stretching his wings out with a relieved sigh.

“Are they uncomfortable?” Aerith says. “You should sleep with them out from now on.”

Cloud’s vaguely affirmative response is muffled by his pillow. For all his misgivings, he seems absolutely blissed out to finally have them free.

“Also… will you let me touch them?”

Aerith shrieks as a feathered wing smacks her in the face.

-

Cloud nods to the shopkeeper as he bags his items.

The burly man grunts and carelessly waves him off, turning to the next customer.

After shoplifting a pair of thick colored contacts—a common commodity in the Slums for both prostitutes aiming for a more exotic appeal and those who want to hide the effects of Shine—to dampen his eyes to a dull grayish-blue, Cloud blends in even better than he’d anticipated. Everyone in the Slums seems consumed by a strong sense of apathy; no one bothers to question a thirteen-year-old boy selling monster parts, not even when he’d gone to the more illegal end of the market. No one had batted an eye when he’d purchased a basic iron sword and materia, either. Being seen out and about with Aerith probably helps—most residents of Sector 5 have an almost superstitious reverence for the church and the flower-growing girl who often resides there.

But after a good month or so of clearing out monsters in the slums, the local population is beginning to look a bit scarce. There’s been more SOLDIER patrols—probably because of whispers of AVALANCHE’s growing presence—and they often kill monsters as a way of _reassuring_ Slum residents of a strong ShinRa presence. Not to mention there are only so many different ways Cloud can kill hedgehog pies before growing thoroughly bored. He’s managed to regain decent control of his body; he won’t know if he can pull off more complex moves unless he moves on to stronger enemies.

So today marks the first day Cloud will be sneaking out of the slums and into the wastelands in search of something a little more challenging. Like Kalm fangs. Thrilling.

-

“Dude,” Bryant says, squinting vaguely in the direction of the marshlands. “Is that… a chocobo?”

“What?” Zack says as he slings his broadsword onto his back with a stylish twirl. He pumps his fist. “Yes! I got it right this time!”

_“Dude,”_ Bryant repeats. “Preen later. I think I just saw a freakin’ _gold chocobo.”_

Zack frowns, scanning the marshes. “You sure? I thought those were just a myth—wait, Bryant, that’s not a chocobo, that’s a _kid._ What’s a kid doing in the marshlands? Didn’t they say it was real dangerous or somethin’?”

“Yeah, SOLDIERs ranked lower than First aren’t allowed to enter unless they have chocobos—something about a hugeass snake? A Zol-something? Wait, Zack, what are you doing—I literally just said—”

“Kid!” Zack takes off.

“—we’re not allowed there… godsdammit Zack!”

-

Cloud curses his luck under his breath. Of course the one day he decides to venture into the wastelands, there’s a SOLDIER patrol out doing monster cleanup. ShinRa doesn’t even usually _do_ monster cleanup unless someone is paying for it, and paying well; they must really be worried about intimidating AVALANCHE if they’re coming all the way out to the wastelands to do it.

Despite the distance, he manages to pick out a Second and three Thirds by their uniforms. He manages to duck behind a scraggly rock formation before they split into two patrols, the Second with one of the Thirds passing by his hiding spot to head back closer to Midgar and the other two Thirds taking the opposite direction towards the grasslands, effectively cutting off a quick escape.

So Cloud takes a wide loop around, bringing him dangerously close to the marshes, but he’d rather risk encountering the two Thirds rather than their squad leader Second—until he realizes, catching sight of a distinct mop of spiky black hair, that one of them is Zack. _Zack,_ who also carelessly creeps closer and closer to the marshes—and Cloud—with each monster he slays. So Cloud gives up on not getting mudstained and begrudgingly picks his way through the swamp, sticking to the outskirts in futile hope that maybe it will be less messy.

(Elmyra will not be happy with him tracking dirt all over the house.)

He keeps a careful eye out for the sweeping shadow that heralds the Zolom—he may be stronger, now, but he doesn’t think he’s quite capable of taking it out without causing a ruckus and ruining the whole reason he took this detour.

“Heeeey! Hey kid—”

Cloud startles. He’d been so absorbed trying to avoid the Zolom that he hadn’t been watching Zack, and now—

“Don’t let the shadow catch you!” he warns as Zack comes charging toward him. Of course, that brings Zack to a surprised halt right in time for the Zolom to burst out from beneath the muddy swamp, screeching loudly.

“Holy shit!” Zack, ever the hero, draws his broadsword and steps in front of Cloud. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll keep you safe! I’m a certified Third-class SOLDIER!”

The Zolom screeches again before lunging, fangs catching on Zack’s broadsword and flinging him a good thirty meters away. Zack, for his part, springs back onto his feet right away, yelling, “Run, kid! I’ll hold it off!”

He leaps back toward the giant snake, bringing his sword into a downwards slash and rending a jagged cut into its thick scales. Zack cheers just in time for the Zolom to rear up, slamming its heavy tail into his torso, and his cheer cuts off into a cry of pain as he lands in the mud, limp.

“Zack!” Cloud screams, frantically searching for a way to distract the Zolom without engaging it in battle. But are his secrets really worth Zack’s _life—_ even if they could make it here in time, the Second and the other Third wouldn’t be enough to take the Zolom down without serious injury—

In his distraction, he doesn’t notice the Zolom’s tail as it whips back around, and it smashes into Cloud next with all the force of a wrecking ball and more. His body flies high and far, and he lands in the swamp muck with a thick, dull _sploosh._ Cloud chokes on air, chest suddenly too tight for his breath as it explodes into a starburst of pain, and he’s had more than enough of his fair share of broken ribs to recognize the feeling.

Through the ringing in his ears, he can hear the sound of metal clashing against scales, but more often than not, it’s fangs tearing into flesh, pained grunts, the thud of harsh impact on skin and bone.

History _(or is it the future?)_ plays itself again before Cloud’s eyes. Zack wouldn’t even be here if not for him. Zack might die because of him, _again—_

_—no,_ Cloud thinks, _never again,_ please—

The materia hanging on his neck _burns._

-

Zack grunts as he brings his broadsword up into an almost-too-late block, arms numb and shaking under the strain. Despite his newness to the program, he’s widely considered one of ShinRa’s best Thirds, but he doesn’t know how much longer even he can last under the Zolom’s assault. As the giant snake rears back up for another biting attack, Zack wearily raises his arms, bracing himself for another too-weak block—at least he hasn’t seen or heard the kid around after telling him to run, so he’s safe, hopefully—

Suddenly, the Zolom topples over with a pained screech. Zack falls backwards onto his ass. A black-clad figure—and how had Zack missed it approach—leaps back from where it had collided with the Zolom with enough force to knock it over, then descends upon the monster with a vicious flurry of blurred attacks.

The battle is over in less than half a minute. Zack doesn’t think his jaw remembers that it doesn’t belong on the ground.

When the man lands lightly in front of him, slinging his _seriously awesome_ sword to hang on his back in one smooth motion, Zack whoops and leaps to his feet. “Dude! That was—so _cool!”_ Then he winces. Everywhere hurts. “Ow…”

Then there’s an arm against Zack’s back and another supporting his chest, and the man guides him gently to a drier patch of ground, careful not to exacerbate any of his injuries. “Here, sit.”

Zack babbles his thanks as the other casts a Cure, Zack’s cuts and bruises fading away quickly in a wave of warmth, only leaving behind the slight ache of overworked muscles. He’s obviously a First—his modified black outfit and brightly glowing blue eyes are huge tells, not to mention the astonishing ease with which he’d dispatched the Zolom. Only Firsts are that strong and fast.

He is, however, much smaller than other Firsts, especially in comparison to his enormous sword, similar in size and shape to Angeal’s Buster Sword. It almost looks ridiculous, especially considering how Angeal is nearly a foot taller and a great deal broader than him. In fact, the blond man is smaller than any SOLDIER Zack’s seen, even the young, still-growing Thirds who are adapting to their ongoing injections. Mako has a way of making teenagers shoot up to astonishing heights as they go through puberty, with Zack, for example, gaining four inches within the single year he’s started his injections and still growing.

The man’s hair, spiked and golden, vaguely reminds Zack of a chocobo’s crest, suddenly bringing to mind the kid from before. “Oh crap!” Zack blurts. “Have you seen a kid around? Hair like yours, all spiky, but long and in this fluffy ponytail. I told him to run, but I don’t see him around anymore—do you know if he got away?”

For a moment, Zack doesn’t think the man is going to answer. Then, he says, “He’s fine.”

Zack sighs, shoulders slumping in relief. “That’s good. That’s—real good.”

“You should be more careful.”

Zack blinks. “What?”

“You’re not ready to take on an enemy like that yet,” the man says, and suddenly his gaze is intense, almost frantic. “What if you’d died, both of you? Your life is too precious to be wasted like that.”

“Aw, well, I guess I didn't really think of that,” Zack says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—wanted to help, y’know? I wanna be a hero, someday, and heroes can't be all fussed about their own safety, or whether their efforts will make a difference or not. They just gotta try, ‘cause they care about saving people. Hey, wait!” Zack brightens. “You said ‘yet’. Does that mean you think I'll get strong enough to take one of those on?”

The man studies him. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “You will.”

Zack grins. “Dude, that means so much coming from a First like you! Thanks!”

“Heeeeeey!”

Zack turns to see Bryant, waving from a distance as he runs over to them. Grinning, Zack waves back.

“I saw the fighting stop.” Bryant pants, doubled over. “I got over here as fast as I could, I was really worried—you should know I can't run as fast as you, Zack!” he scolds. “We're not even allowed to be here, either!”

“Aw, thanks for worrying, bro!” Zack slaps his patrol mate on the back. “But hey, I saved the kid and I didn't die, so it's all good, right?”

Bryant’s gaze falls to the First standing patiently to the side. “Thank you, sir. I really don't want to know what would've happened to this knucklehead here if we weren't lucky enough for a First like you to be passing by.”

The man shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, no problem. I have to… be on my way, so—”

“Hey!” Zack says. “Are you on your way back to Midgar to report in? We'll be going there too as soon as we meet back up with our squad leader. We can head back together!”

He shakes his head. “I'm not.”

“Oh.” Zack deflates at not being able to spend more time with his newfound friend. “Well… then, is it okay if I take you out for lunch sometime? My treat! I know you probably get paid a lot more than I do, but I wanna say thanks properly! You really saved my ass out there!”

“ … We'll see,” he answers quietly. “Bye, Zack.”

“Ah, wait, I didn't get your name—”

But the mysterious First is gone.

-

Aerith paces nervously around the small garden behind her house. Evening has fallen, making the already gloomy slum atmosphere even darker. Cloud is late.

The scuffle of unsteady footsteps alerts Aerith to a presence behind one of her flowering bushes.

“ … Cloud?” she calls uncertainly.

More rustling. Then a hoarse voice answers, so quiet she has to strain to hear, “Yeah. Turks?”

“All clear. They watch the streets instead of the house at this time of night,” Aerith says, growing even more worried at Cloud’s odd behavior. “What’s wrong?”

Aerith gasps as a tall figure stumbles out from behind the bush. It’s Cloud, but—

She buckles under his heavy weight as he nearly falls over, helping him sit down against the wall. Her grip on his dark ribbed shirt comes away warm and sticky. “You’re bleeding! What happened? And how are you—like this? Oh, never mind that, I need to—do you have a Restore materia?”

Cloud shakes his head. “Already tried. Didn’t work. Must be ‘cause… it’s a reminder. Masamune.” He shudders.

“It won’t heal? Then—what—”

“S’not that bad. Won’t die. Probably,” Cloud grits out. His face is pale and sweaty from blood loss.

Aerith unzips his shirt with shaking fingers, revealing a single long, deep gash right above his heart. It’s startlingly straight and clean, and somehow she knows that if she checks the other side, she’ll find its exact match from where the blade exited. “What _happened?”_ Aerith asks again, pressing her hands against the wound to stem the flow of blood. “You were just going to the wastelands, right? How did you—this—”

“Saw a ShinRa patrol. Took the long way around to avoid them… Ended up going through the swamp. Zack,” Cloud chokes, “Zack was there. He thought I was a kid and ran in to save me, ‘cause of the Zolom…”

“Oh, Cloud…”

“I thought… he was gonna die. And I just—never again,” Cloud says, eyes glassy and distant. “The materia—Ma’s materia—it burned. Then _everything_ burned… thought I was on fire. But then the fire was gone, and I was like this.”

Aerith’s eyes fall to the faintly glowing materia settled in the dip of Cloud’s collarbones. She’s never seen anything like it. “This must be the Planet’s way of getting you back up to scratch without waiting for years,” she realizes. “Is this permanent? That’d be convenient, wouldn’t it?”

Cloud scoffs. “Dunno. Getting old scars that can’t heal one by one like this is real _in_ convenient, actually. But… I guess it’s good to have a trump card if things go seriously south. And maybe we can start talking to AVALANCHE—Cid and Barret might actually take me seriously instead of laughing my thirteen-year-old ass out the front door… fuckin’ tea…”

“You took down the Zolom fine, though,” Aerith inserts before Cloud can get sidetracked further. “You weren’t hurt anywhere else?”

“Nah—ribs healed fine on the way back. Managed to get away from Zack and his friend without them noticing, too. Hurt like a bitch though.”

“I guess all your fancy-pants enhancements are good for at least something, SOLDIER boy,” she says, finally relaxing. Cloud is still obviously out of it, but he doesn’t seem to be getting any worse. It’s a little strange, seeing him for the fully-grown man he is in truth, rather than the short kid she’s grown used to trailing around after her. Of course, she’s seen him like this in her dreams, but reality is a bit different. More solid, for one.

“Hey,” Cloud protests. “I—” He cuts himself off with a grunt, doubling over.

“Cloud!” Aerith grasps his arm, alert once again, then pulls away with a hiss. “You’re burning hot! And not in the good way, either!”

Cloud groans, long and drawn out. His hunched form seems—smaller? Then he flickers once, twice, and then thirteen-year-old Cloud is blinking tiredly up at Aerith.

“Guess it’s not permanent,” he says quietly. “Makes sense. Too much strain to maintain a form that doesn’t actually exist. Kadaj turned back after, too.”

It takes a moment for Aerith to realize he’s speaking of the battle that happened with Sephiroth when he returned after the Geostigma outbreak. “Oh right—I guess it is pretty similar, him assuming Sephiroth’s form… but instead of JENOVA’s head, you used your materia as a catalyst.”

“Yeah, more mass, more power… shouldn’t be possible… but memories…” Cloud trails off into a mumble.

Aerith sighs when she realizes he’s fallen asleep. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, either. Interestingly enough, though there are bloodstains on the ground and wall, there don’t seem to be any on his body or clothing. A quick check reveals a smooth white scar where the deep wound had previously been, and Aerith sighs in relief.

“All right, sleepy head, let’s get to bed. It’s been a long day for you, huh?” she says fondly as she heaves him up onto her back, his small form still a tad heavy for her, but not unmanageable like the older one would have been. Cloud mutters something incoherent from where his head is tucked into the crook of her neck.

Aerith snickers. “You know, this version of you is pretty convenient, too…”

-

The next morning, Aerith wakes to a pair of hands shaking her excitedly.

“Aerith. Aerith, wake up.”

“Ngh,” Aerith very eloquently says, peeling her eyes open. “Whassit, Cloud?”

“Aerith.” There’s an uncharacteristic pleased smile tugging at Cloud’s mouth. “Aerith, I got _taller.”_

Aerith groans and pulls her pillow over her ears.

-

“Zack,” Angeal's voice calls, interrupting Zack’s daily warm-up routine.

Zack frowns and pauses in his movements. Angeal is always serious, of course, but he sounds even more serious than usual. It can't be anything Zack’s done, though, right? He hasn't pranked anyone in _weeks,_ and he even came to training early today!

“What's up?” he says.

“Do you remember the mission you took two weeks ago? The one in the Midgar wastes?”

“Oh yeah, do I ever!” Zack crows. “Best mission in my life! So far, of course,” he adds.

“Good,” Angeal says, “because Director Lazard wants to speak with you about it.”

Zack’s grin freezes. “Uh, I didn't… mess up the report or anything, did I?” The last time he'd filled out a report incorrectly, Angeal had forced him to clean the SOLDIER latrines.

Angeal sighs and shakes his head. “No. If it’d just been that, our situation wouldn't nearly be as bad…”

Zack's gut sinks somewhere below his feet. That doesn’t sound good.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for illegal drug use and attempted sexual assault at the very end
> 
> also weird pacing w time jumps i guess? oops

Zack shifts from foot to foot as he stares at the Director of SOLDIER, a thin, lanky man in a pinstriped suit with long, dirty blond hair who’d introduced himself as Lazard. Unbothered, the man pushes his glasses up with a bony finger before turning back to his computer and tapping something out on his keyboard.

Angeal nudges him subtly. Zack stops shifting, then begins to bounce on the heels of his feet; Angeal sighs and gives up on making Zack stay still.

Director Lazard says, “We’ll be starting soon. We're just waiting for—” A ringing noise cuts him off, and he holds up a hand as he presses a button and answers, “Lazard speaking.”

“SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth is here to see you, sir,” a voice says over the line. Probably his secretary. “He has a report of the latest news in Wutai.”

“Ah, very good,” Lazard says. “Send him in.”

The connection cuts with a neat _click._

Zack gapes. “Sephiroth—?”

Then the door swings open, and in steps the legend himself. Zack thinks he might have forgotten how to blink. Or breathe.

“Director,” Sephiroth _(Sephiroth!)_ says with a stiff nod, gaze flicking to Zack and Angeal. He hands the blond man a thick packet of paper. “My report.”

“Thank you, Sephiroth,” Lazard says. “I apologize for recalling you from the front lines so abruptly. I'm sure you must be tired after your long flight back, but unfortunately, a serious matter requiring your attention has arisen.”

Sephiroth blinks exactly once, then asks almost wryly, “Am I to assume it involves Angeal’s student somehow?”

Lazard steeples his fingers. “Well, yes. In a way. Have you read his report on his mission in the wastelands on March thirteenth?”

“All of Third Class Fair's mission reports are handled by his mentor, as protocol dictates, then sent directly to you for review,” Sephiroth answers. “It was deemed an unnecessary distribution of resources to have both of us approve his reports.”

Lazard nods. “I thought as much. Then to summarize, SOLDIER Fair claims to have seen a child wandering the marshlands, and, aware of its dangers—yet not aware enough, it seems—entered the swamp to rescue him. He was saved from an almost assuredly gruesome death via Midgar Zolom by what he assumed to be a passing First Class.”

Sephiroth blinks once again. “Ignoring the obvious breach in protocol, I see no reason for concern. Unless—? I have been in Wutai for the past year, so I am unaware of recent mission assignments—”

“There were no Firsts who should have been nearby,” Angeal confirms. “According to the records, no one had a mission that day that should have brought them east of Midgar at all, whether leaving or coming back.”

Lazard adds, “Furthermore, there is not a single First Class dead, missing, or otherwise who matches Fair's description of the man in his report, which was what piqued my interest in the first place. I’d assumed he was a particularly adept Second instead and looked into his identity to perhaps consider a promotion, but upon further investigation, none of the Seconds are a match, either. So this is clearly not a simple case of someone choosing to take a detour during a mission, or even their day off.”

“I see,” Sephiroth says. “Have you brought this matter to the Board's attention?”

“Not yet. I spoke with Director Veld on potentially investigating this mysterious man, but I wanted to see if we could potentially… compromise the threat in a nonlethal manner before bringing it to the President’s attention. He is bound to react unfavorably to someone outside of SOLDIER having enhancements, no matter their non-aggressive—even benevolent—actions.”

“I assume this applies to the Science Department as well,” Sephiroth says dryly. “Hauling in a subject for experimentation seems hardly conducive for your own plans of recruitment.”

Lazard simply chuckles and pushes his glasses up again.

“Very well,” Sephiroth says. “I will aid you in your search. If I may read the report in question?”

Lazard shuffles through the stack of papers on his desk, before handing Sephiroth a slightly wrinkled page. Sephiroth scans it, eyes moving quickly across the page. Less than a minute later, he barks, “SOLDIER Fair!”

Zack instinctively snaps a salute. “Sir!”

“Your report only gives this man’s appearance a passing mention. Hair color and weapon preference are not sufficient information to conduct a full investigation. Describe to me what this man was like in detail—as much as you can recall.”

“Sir!” Zack repeats. “Uh… just to make sure… you aren’t gonna kill him or anything, are you? Even if he isn’t ShinRa, he saved my life… I’d really rather not rat him out to someone who’d just drag him into the Science Department… or to the Turks.”

“Zack—” Angeal starts, but halts when Sephiroth holds up his hand.

“Relax,” he says. “Your friend is a very powerful potential ally. Inciting his aggression would be counterintuitive. As such, it is in our best interests to keep the Science Department unaware of his existence, and the Turks’ investigation strictly nonviolent.”

“Oh, okay,” Zack says, visibly relaxing. “What do ya wanna know, then? I didn’t get much outta him, he was real quiet, but I hope it helps to find him—I wanna be able to say thanks!”

Sephiroth nods. “Very well. I don’t suppose you were fortunate enough to acquire his name, were you?”

Zack shakes his head. “Nah. He left before I could ask.”

“I see. Then, describe his appearance to the best of your ability.”

“Hmm…” Zack taps his chin with a finger. “Oh! He had this real wild, spiky blond hair. Reminded me of a chocobo! A golden one!”

Angeal smiles. “You were quite enthusiastic about that detail in your report, yes. It was one of the main factors we used in eliminating any matches,” he tells Sephiroth. “Very few people can claim to have hair that can be described like _that,_ after all, even in exaggeration.”

“I’m not exaggerating!” Zack huffs. “It was pretty awesome—all fluffy, I wanted to pet it… Uh, other than that, well, he had the usual glowing blue eyes, but real extra bright, which is why I thought he was a First—that and his black uniform, and also the super badass way he fought with his sword! That thing was huge! It was almost the same size as Angeal’s, but he was kind of a small dude—there’s no way he looked like he could’ve even lifted it!”

“I see,” Sephiroth mutters, half to himself. “Tell me, Fair, exactly how bright were this man’s eyes? For example, in comparison to, say… mine.”

“Uh…” Zack peers at Sephiroth’s bright, cat-slit eyes. There’s a gleam in them that can only be described as _intense._ “It’s kinda hard to say, since they’re different colors, but… just as bright, probably. Maybe even brighter?”

Lazard coughs as if he wants to say something, but Sephiroth ignores him and plows on. “You mentioned his uniform. Given your assumption at the time, it must have resembled a First’s. Did anything else about it stand out to you?”

“Well… it was black,” Zack says slowly. “And it definitely looked like a SOLDIER uniform, because I remember thinking it wasn’t as modified as some other Firsts have it, where you can’t even recognize that it’s a SOLDIER uniform anymore—uh, not that there’s anything bad about that!” he adds hastily, eyeing Sephiroth’s own leather ensemble. Then he frowns and shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t remember much about his clothes. He was way too fast for me to see when he was fighting, all blurry, and after that I was just really excited and I didn’t pay too much attention to what he was wearing.”

“You mentioned that he was… small. What is your estimate of his dimensions?”

“Oh… I’m not too good at guessing heights, not since my growth spurt. But he was definitely shorter than me by a couple inches, I think. And he was real thin, too. Like, half an Angeal.”

Angeal huffs half-amusedly, half-indignantly from where he stands behind them, and Zack grins.

Lazard coughs again, more forcefully. “Sephiroth, this is ridiculous. I’m not saying we can’t trust SOLDIER Fair, but oftentimes the heat of the moment and intense feelings of awe can distort one’s recollections. Honestly—someone with mako levels on par with or higher than yours? Not to mention his size—the only SOLDIERs who are that small are Thirds who have yet to receive most of their injections!”

“That reminds me. Fair, about how old did this man appear?” Sephiroth asks.

Zack balks at how blatantly he ignores his direct superior. “Uh. I think maybe… eighteen? I dunno, he had this kind of face that it made it hard to tell how old he was. Not less than sixteen, but definitely not more than twenty-one,” he concludes.

“He Cured you after the battle, correct? Did anything seem out of the ordinary?”

“What do you mean?” Zack asks, confused.

“For example… did it feel different compared to other Cure spells cast on you before? Was his magic more or less potent than an average SOLDIER’s?”

“Sorry, can’t help you there,” Zack says. “I’m not the best with materia, and I’ve really only been healed by Angeal before. Sometimes other Thirds. I guess if I had to describe it I’d say… warm? Tingly? Like being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. Or sitting in front of a fire, or something. Kind of.” He winces at his own clumsy analogies.

Zack watches warily as Sephiroth’s grasp on the report tightens, but the First’s next request distracts him from the paper’s sorry state. “Describe his combat style.”

“Super fast!” Zack crows, bouncing in place. “I didn’t even see him come in, or half the fight after that. Super strong, too! He knocked that fat snake right onto its ass when he slammed into it. It only took him like half a minute to take it down, too! Dope as hell.” Suddenly, Zack remembers this is _Sephiroth_ he’s reporting to, and he probably doesn’t appreciate the inappropriate words interspersed throughout Zack’s commentary. He coughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, sorry, sir. I got kinda… too excited.”

Sephiroth’s eyes track Zack’s movement. “Never mind that, Fair. What about his weapon?” he prompts, brusque and urgent.

“Oh, I remember this!” Zack says excitedly. “It was shaped a lot like Angeal’s Buster Sword, but it was made from a different kind of metal, I think, ‘cause the light bounced off differently. Actually, I remember thinking it was kinda weird, because it didn’t really look like a single piece of metal? It almost looked like—”

“A set of interlocking blades,” Sephiroth says softly.

“I—yeah, actually,” Zack says, blinking confusedly. “How did you know?”

Sephiroth doesn’t answer. Instead, he pivots sharply on his heel and heads for the door, Zack’s poor wrinkled report still clenched in his hand. “I will begin searching for this man at once,” he says without turning back around. “I trust you to transmit this description to the Turks, Director, and inform them that this case is of the utmost priority—as is that this man remains _unharmed._ Any information, any leads, are to be brought directly to me. That is all.”

The door slides shut behind him. The automated _beep_ of the locking mechanism is loud in the ringing silence.

Zack stares. “What was _that_ all about?”

“I’ve never seen Sephiroth as… emotional as this,” Lazard says blankly.

“That was him being emotional?” Zack asks. In his opinion, Sephiroth hadn't emoted much more than your average brick wall.

Angeal shakes his head. “Contrary to his unflappable exterior, you could say that Sephiroth is a man of passion. His particular life experiences have simply forced him to learn to lock it all down deep inside.”

“Huh,” Zack says. “I guess it makes sense. All that emotion’s gotta go _somewhere,_ right?”

“Right…” Angeal says, still watching the door with a distant look in his eyes. “Somewhere.”

-

Tseng blinks down at the screen of his PHS, its cheerful chime notifying him of another new mission. He bites back a sigh; right after he’d finished digging through all of that blond boy’s rather mundane life history, too, just because Aerith had decided to pick up a stray…

The most interesting thing about Cloud Strife is the ostracization he’d faced growing up as the result of an unmarried tryst between the “creepy town witch” and—by all speculative accounts—a member of the reactor’s construction crew, as Cissnei’s investigation in Nibelheim had revealed. It’s almost fascinating how such a minor thing would lead to such cruelty in a small conservative town, Tseng muses. He’s almost glad that the boy has managed to find a friend in Aerith, who is as accepting as she is sassy.

Reading through his new mission details, Tseng sighs. Well-known for their skills in espionage, the Turks are often given these kinds of information-gathering and subject-tracking assignments, but without even a name or affiliation to start with, even they will be hard-pressed to find this man in a timely manner—which means that, considering Sephiroth’s nature, as soon as possible will already be too late. Though the man was last seen in the Midgar wastelands, if the report on his enhancements is to be believed, he could be anywhere from the Northern Crater to Cosmo Canyon by now, even without consistent transportation.

Perhaps several of the newer recruits will do, Tseng decides. After all, fresh meat is best tempered on wild goose chases.

-

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again.”

“Oh, hush, you,” Aerith says. “You knew this would happen eventually. The clothes you brought with you don’t fit anymore, now that you’ve grown. Now try this one on.”

Cloud eyes the sleeveless white sundress before giving in with a sigh, pulling the dress over his head in one smooth motion. Though it fits perfectly, it barely reaches his knees. Tugging on the pleated hem uncomfortably, he asks, “This fine?”

Aerith claps her hands and beams. “It looks great!” She carefully brushes out any wrinkles before tying a neat bow in the back. “I’m glad it fits without having to worry about any padding, but if you get any taller—well, it’s hard to find dresses with small chests like this in larger sizes, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

Cloud winces at the mention of _padding._ His memories of crossdressing the first time around are clear enough to not need a reminder, thank you very much. He’d be the first to admit that the clothing itself hadn’t nearly been as bad as being stared at like a piece of meat on sale—his skin had felt unclean for a whole week afterwards.

Aerith breaks him from his painful reverie by tugging out the messy ponytail in his hair and running a brush through it. She pushes back the bangs hanging in his face with a simple light blue clip.

“Your hair got longer, too,” she muses. “Are you just getting older every time you transform back?”

Cloud shrugs. “It’s only happened one time. Once I figure out how to actually do it, we can test it.”

“You’d better not get _too_ old,” Aerith says, still fussing with his hair. “Like I said, I won’t have clothes that will fit you. Or I guess we should hope that you do get old enough, and you can just keep wearing your clothes from before. But those are so recognizable, and you said a ShinRa SOLDIER patrol already saw you…”

“I doubt they reported me,” Cloud says. “I got lucky. They just thought I was a First passing by.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. You and I both know that your luck is the absolute worst,” Aerith says. “Well, either way, I’m going to treasure this time as long as I can. It’s a pity my other self didn’t get to dress you up more… so I’m just going to have to make up for it.”

Cloud sighs. “I knew you had an ulterior motive.”

“Of course!” Aerith rolls her eyes. “I know you've been worrying about repaying us for room and board and all, but forget about that, okay? Just spend your money on whatever you want. Even clothes, if it really bothers you to dress up like this.”

“I don’t mind,” Cloud says, and watches Aerith’s face break into a bright smile. She's been buzzing with genuine enthusiasm in a way he doesn't see often, despite the cocksure act she puts on, and he can count the number of times her other self had so freely enjoyed herself in the short time she'd spent with AVALANCHE on a single hand. The ache in his chest tightens. "You’re having a lot of fun. So… it’s fine.”

“Really?” Aerith’s smile widens into something a bit more ominous.

“ … Once in a while. And I still want to have _something_ I can actually fight in.”

-

A couple days later, Cloud finds out that Aerith is right. He isn’t so lucky, after all.

“Kid,” the burly shopkeeper mutters while counting out his gil, “you got an older brother?”

Cloud blinks up at him, clutching his newly-purchased potions to his chest. It’s the first non-shop-related words they’ve said to one another. “No. Why?”

“Well, if you don’t, then…” He leans in close. “You didn’t hear it from me, but… there’ve been some blue suits askin’ around for a _friend,_ if you know what I mean.”

Blue suits. Turks. Amateur ones, if they’ve been investigating so overtly. An experienced Turk would be in and out for their desired information without the locals even noticing they were being interrogated.

“Pretty boy with spiky blond hair and SOLDIER-bright blue eyes, ‘bout five-seven, they said. If you weren’t such a pipsqueak, I’d’ve near thought they were askin’ for _you,_ but… you’ve got a good couple of years before you get anywhere near five-seven.” He shakes his head. “Feel real bad for whatever poor bastard got on the wrong side of ShinRa. Ain’t no one deserve bein’ handed over ta the Turks.”

“Ah,” Cloud says.

This earns him a sharp look. “Sound like anyone you know?”

Cloud shakes his head. “Never met anyone like that before.” It’s not a lie. He can’t very well meet _himself,_ after all.

“You keep your head down, hear me?” the man says. “Never know if some desperate fool’ll hand you over just ‘cause of a couple of matchin’ characteristics. Don’t need no more innocent kids gettin’ dragged into the _real_ shady end of things.”

“Got it,” Cloud says. “ … Thanks.”

“You’re a good kid,” the man adds gruffly. “And good for business. Would hate to see you disappear.” Piece said, he turns around and starts fiddling with the stock on his shelves.

Cloud sighs wearily as he leaves the shop. Suddenly, everything has become so much more complicated. 

-

“I told you there’s no way they thought you were a First!”

“But that’s what Zack said! You trust Zack, don’t you?”

“Then why are they looking for you?”

“I don’t know! The higher-ups must have—realized I wasn’t or something!”

“What are we going to do now? You’re too strong—they must see you as a threat now! Do they want to take you in for custody? Turn you over to Hojo? Kill you?!” Aerith wrings her hands as she paces, distressed.

Cloud takes a calming breath. “It’s—it’s okay. They’re looking for a fully-grown man, not a kid. We’ve just got to… lie low for a bit. Act normal. We’ve gotten past the Turks’ paranoia, so we shouldn’t have to worry about them tracing anything back to us.”

“But you said Zack saw you as a kid in the swamp, too,” Aerith points out. “If he reported enough information about you for them to identify you as not a First, what if he also reported enough information for them to identify you as—you know, _you?”_

“It’s not like I’m the only blond kid around,” Cloud reasons, but he's really trying to convince himself at this point too. “I made sure to always sneak out without any of the Turks noticing, either. As far as they’re concerned, Cloud Strife is a perfectly normal country bumpkin running away from his hometown who has no reason to be out in the Midgar wastes.”

Aerith sighs. “I hope you’re right, Cloud. I really, really do.”

Cloud bites his lip. “Me too, Aerith. Me too.”

-

Sephiroth resists the urge to run a hand through his hair as he contemplates Zack’s description. It's almost assuredly Cloud—spiky blond hair and all.

Perhaps automatically assuming that a black-clad blond man with an odd sword is his long-dead—friend? guardian?—is jumping to hasty conclusions, but after their encounter in Wutai, he has no reason to _not_ believe such a similar description means it is Cloud. After all, he could not have been a hallucination, not with how the Wutaian warriors had so abruptly backed off, not with how Sephiroth’s injuries had been healed so smoothly, so quickly.

He clenches his left hand into a fist, again remembering the slenderness of Cloud’s wrist, how Sephiroth’s thumb and forefinger had wrapped around it with room to spare.

 _Shorter than me by at least a couple of inches,_ Zack had said. _Not less than sixteen, but definitely not older than twenty-one._

Sephiroth had been only about six or seven years old, towards the end. Of course his perception of Cloud is skewed. But for Cloud to be no taller than about five-seven or five-eight, and possibly even younger than Sephiroth in appearance—

Cloud would barely reach past his shoulders. If he held him close, his hair might barely brush the bottom of Sephiroth’s jaw, if he tilted his head upwards.

Sephiroth thinks about holding Cloud close. Holding Cloud. How Cloud had held him, so many years ago, strong arms enveloping him with warmth and protection _(and maybe even love?_ part of his mind dares to wonder).

If he were to hold Cloud now in _his_ arms, would Cloud feel the same way Sephiroth had felt? An image pops into his mind, of wrapping his arms around a solid body, fluffy blond spikes tickling his nose, warm breath against his shoulder as Cloud huffs gently in that way he so often does, half-amused and half-annoyed, but leans in regardless. Sephiroth decides he rather likes it.

But Cloud is not here, and Sephiroth cannot hold him. And the more time that passes without any news from the Turks, the more Sephiroth’s hope fades.

-

“Have you had any luck with summoning the water?”

Aerith breaks her stare-off with the White Materia to frown at Cloud. “No… I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve tried _everything—_ praying to the Planet, praying over normal water, even talking to the materia, and you do _not_ want to know how that conversation with Mom went down when she caught me like that—”

“Maybe we’re going about this wrong,” Cloud says. “Maybe it’s more like… a Limit Break or something.”

Aerith hums. “You think so?”

Cloud shrugs. “Just a thought. Either that, or it requires a lot more MP to generate than we thought. _Or_ maybe you have to be dead to cast it… but I try not to think about that.”

Aerith huffs. “I’m just going to ignore that last one, thanks. What you’re saying is that I have to get stronger, right? It’s been a few months since we last heard anything about Turks poking around Midgar looking for older-you. You can probably go monster hunting again—take me with you.”

“That’s what I was gonna suggest,” Cloud says with a nod.

Aerith claps her hands. “Oh, good! I was worried I might have to force you, and that definitely wouldn’t have been fun,” she says sweetly. “For you at least.”

Cloud shudders.

-

“What do you mean, there is still no new information?” Sephiroth demands stiffly. “It has been _months.”_

Lazard sighs. “Exactly what it sounds like. The Turks have conducted a full investigation in the entirety of Midgar, including the slums, as well as Junon and Kalm, and their neighboring small towns. No reports of a single man who matches the description, though there have been a few false alarms. The man in question is certainly a master of disguise and has either gone to ground, or left the continent entirely.”

“Then expand the search to the Northern and Western Continents.”

“We have,” Lazard says, “but these kinds of investigations _take time,_ Sephiroth. If they’re rushed, we may slip up and alert the man to our search, and send him even further off the radar. Are you willing to risk that?”

Sephiroth is very tempted to growl, but wrests his self-control in place. Ever since the search for Cloud has started, he has been restless and irritable, impatient and unsatisfied with his inability to participate. Rather understandably, Cloud doesn't seem to want to be found, by ShinRa or otherwise; Sephiroth's appearance is conspicuously tied to the company, and, as a weapon designed for warfare, he has never been trained in the art of subterfuge as the Turks have.

Sephiroth ignores the part of him that whispers hurt and betrayal, that accuses that if Cloud still cared he wouldn't hide from _Sephiroth._ Instead, he carefully reminds himself that Cloud had been hurt from being called, and maybe Cloud isn't even able to exist on their plane for now after whatever he manifested for that day in the wastelands.

(He also tries to ignore how that part of him simply asks louder, _Then why Zack and not you?_

It doesn't work.)

“Very well,” he finally says. “However—”

He’s interrupted by Lazard’s secretary ringing in. “Sir,” they say, “Turk second-in-command Tseng has just arrived, carrying a file marked urgent.”

“Well,” Lazard says, brows raised, “it seems you may be getting your news after all, Sephiroth. Send him in.”

“Yes, sir,” they reply. Seconds later, the door swings open, and Tseng glides in and places a thick yellow envelope on Lazard’s desk. It clatters slightly, alerting Sephiroth to the presence of several video tapes.

“The results of my investigation, as requested."

“Very well,” Lazard says. “If you would?”

Tseng nods and slides the first tape, marked as “S5A51, 07.28.00, 23:42-23:56”, into a slot in Lazard’s desk. The large screen behind Lazard’s head flickers to life, revealing a black-and-white video of an alleyway.

"This footage was recorded by one of the security cameras in the Sector 5 slums last night," Tseng says.

A few seconds pass, then two young girls of about the same height dash on-screen. The one with longer, darker hair is carrying a staff. Their mouths move as they discuss something with harried expressions, but unfortunately, there is no sound. They seem wary, looking around as they head for the other end of the alley.

Suddenly, they rear back, startled, but whatever they see is out of the camera’s range. As a trio of heavy-set men appear behind them, Sephiroth assumes that their friends have appeared opposite to them. He frowns. The men are staggering about, the bright, fevered glow in their eyes demonstrating their mako-fueled high—there is no way the two young girls can hold their own against them, not with the illicit drugs temporarily boosting the men’s strength.

Sephiroth has never approved of those who flock in large numbers to bully others simply to affirm their own false superiority.

He frowns harder when one of the largest men, clearly the leader, grasps the wrist of the one with the staff. She retaliates by whacking his side, sending him reeling back as his mouth opens wide in a noiseless bellow, but another man twists her other arm forcefully, and the staff clatters to the ground. The girl cries out in pain.

Her light-haired friend grabs the staff and hurls herself at the man holding the first girl hostage. A few quick, well-placed hits across the brute’s legs and face send him reeling back and his hostage sprawling. As the second girl runs to her disoriented friend and urges her to get up and run, the three other men gather around, sneering. One grabs the light-haired one by her ponytail, hauling her up and throwing her rather viciously to the side. The force of the throw sends her crashing into, presumably, a trash heap out of the camera’s range, plastic bags scattering their discarded contents across the corner of the screen.

They then converge on the dark-haired one, crude grins on their lips. Sephiroth’s lip curls in disgust as one man reaches for the buttons on her dress, the others holding down her limbs to prevent her from thrashing.

“What is the purpose of showing us this rather repulsive scene, Tseng?” he asks.

Tseng’s dark eyes gleam as he nods at the screen. “That.”

Suddenly, the man unclothing the girl collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. His companions stare, dumbfounded, at the slim, black-clad figure behind the fallen man, the hilt of his enormous sword still raised. In the next heartbeat, both are sent flying away with a simple sweep of the weapon’s blunt edge, and they lie still where they land, unconscious but still breathing.

The man faces away from the camera, but Sephiroth _knows._ He knows that hair, those clothes, the sword—

It’s Cloud.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for more references to the events that happened at the end of last chapter, also very minor character death
> 
> i've come to realize that this fic is just an entire fucking comedy of errors

Cloud trails tiredly after Aerith as she sweeps through the morning market with her basket of flowers, rubbing his eyes clean of sleep. She’d decided to start selling them for money a few weeks ago as an excuse for them to venture out into the Slums and fight monsters, and as of yet, the Turks haven’t caught on that all their accidental scrapes with danger aren’t quite so accidental.

Except for last night, that is. That situation had been entirely unintended, and one that wouldn’t have happened at all if not for them unintentionally staying out so late. Cloud’s already apologized multiple times over for the incident, but Aerith refuses to blame him. Either way, it wouldn’t have been able to be handled in any way without raising any sort of suspicion, and it’d taken a series of hasty judgments on what kind of scene, exactly, would be safest for the security cameras to capture before—

(The moment he’d gotten out of the camera’s range, he’d taken his chance to transform. Better they see the adult version of him in battle than his younger form. They're already aware of the former's strength; the latter not so much.)

He rubs his right shoulder absentmindedly. There’s a phantom ache there, now, left over from when another old wound had reopened last night. It’s still fresh in his mind—the old memory of being pinned to the wall, Masamune twisting deeper and deeper into his shoulder, piercing muscle and ligament and eventually bone…

“—so nice to see such a cute couple like you two!” a young woman with pretty red curls says, breaking Cloud from his reverie. She looks vaguely familiar.

“Oh, no,” Aerith says, handing her a white flower in exchange for her gil. “Cloud and I aren’t a couple. He’s like a younger brother to me.”

Cloud coughs.

Aerith amends, “Sometimes an older one, too. It depends.”

“If you say so,” the woman answers with a wink. “But, dear, are you all right? I saw you and your friend being chased by that gang of men last night.”

“Oh,” Aerith says, startled. “That kind of thing… really isn't as uncommon as you'd expect, here. But we were lucky enough to both make it out fine.”

“Oh, yes, I saw that man step in and help you,” she says. “It’s good to know that there are some good people left in this place. I’m a bit ashamed to say that I hightailed it out of there before I saw anything else happen—wait, _he_ didn’t do anything… untoward, did he?”

“Oh, no, of course not!” Aerith says, laughing. “He’s—a good friend of mine, a huge dork really—” She cuts herself off. “Actually,” she says abruptly, “Cloud, your, uh, cough, you don’t look too hot, actually, maybe we should head home early.”

Cloud blinks, but coughs obligingly into his sleeve. Aerith's cue has him taking a moment to study the woman more closely. He hadn't thought much of her at first; everything about her is non-threatening—her posture, her hand motions, her expression…

Too non-threatening. And the way she moves—fluid, easy, no motion wasted, eyes sharp and aware of everything around her—

He knew she looked familiar. A Turk.

Cloud shifts a little closer to Aerith, careful to keep his own body language as innocuous as possible. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I’m not feeling too good. My cough is back.”

Aerith turns back to the woman with an apologetic smile plastered on her face. “Sorry, it looks like we should start heading home. Cloud’s been… recovering from a cold, and I thought he was well enough to come out with me again, but he seems to be coughing again…”

“Oh, of course!” The woman steps back. “I hope you feel better soon, dear. Goodbye!”

“Bye!” Aerith waves back, before hustling Cloud away. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. “I can’t believe I just told a Turk that I _knew_ you. How did I not realize earlier? Her questions, the way she moved— _fuck.”_

Cloud shakes his head. “It’s all right. They would have guessed from watching the security footage from last night, anyways. That’s probably why they showed up in the first place.”

“What are they going to do now?”

“ … I don’t know.”

-

Sephiroth watches as the video shows Cloud kneeling by the girl, supporting her back as she sits up. She flashes him a grateful smile before wincing and holding a hand to her head. There’s a brief glow as he places his hand over hers, indicating the cast of a spell. As he helps her stand up, she shakes her head in reply to something, then tilts her head as if asking a question. He shrugs—one shoulder up and down, just like always—and buttons her dress back up with gentle fingers. This is no coincidence that Cloud is here, protecting this girl—they know each other. Part of Sephiroth _twists_ at their easy intimacy.

Cloud holds a hand out to the girl, and she smiles again and takes it. They walk off the edge of the screen together, presumably to retrieve their other companion from where she'd been tossed off-screen earlier.

“As I said, this was filmed last night,” Tseng says. “The black-and-white film alone revealed a rather staggering match of key characteristics, so we brought in one of the men involved in the altercation for questioning to further ensure that there were no more cases of mistaken identities.” He holds up another tape, this one with the much less explanatory label “TI-S580657”.

Lazard holds up a hand. “Before we move on, were you able to get a lipreading of their conversation?”

Tseng purses his lips. “Unfortunately, for the conversation between the two girls, the abrupt and frequent movement of their heads did not allow for much. Additionally, for the conversation between the man and the girl, our main subject of interest was facing away from the camera the entire time. We were able to transcribe the girl’s side of the conversation, but it was not… enlightening.”

He slides a sheet of paper out of the envelope and hands it to Sephiroth, who skims it quickly.

_Man: …_

_Girl: {shakes head} How about you? Are you hurt like last time?_

_Man: {shrugs}_

_Girl: I’m sorry you had to jump in like this. The cameras…_

_Man: …_

_Girl: {frustrated} I don’t know. Of all the nights to slack off! Ugh._

_Man: …_

_Girl: {laughs} That’s true. Let’s go back home, yeah?_

Sephiroth narrows his eyes. _Last time?_ Had Cloud been injured before? He quells the sudden urge to track down whatever had hurt him and kill it slowly, painfully, messily, and instead asks, “And what of the results of your interrogation?”

A corner of Tseng’s mouth pulls up into a tiny smirk. “Here is where things start getting… interesting. This is, of course, simply an audio recording, to preserve the integrity of our… interviewing techniques.”

 _S5A51, 07.28.00, 23:42-23:56_ pops out of Lazard’s desk, and the Turk replaces it with _TI-S580657._

Tseng’s voice comes from the speaker. _“Earnest Bunbury. Better known to his peers as Ernie. An utterly mundane desk jockey for ShinRa. No wife, no children, no close friends. Commutes daily to work from his apartment in Sector 4. Correct?”_

A weedy, wavering voice answers, _“Please don’t—please—I d-don’t know what—I didn’t do anything against ShinRa! Ask—ask anyone at work! They’ll vouch for me! Please don’t k-kill me!”_

_“Is that so? Tell me, what was a respectable upper-Plate dweller like you doing in the Sector 5 slums last night, from around, oh… eleven-thirty to twelve?”_

_“I—nothing! Nothing… m-much. We may have… gotten a little high, b-but—”_

_“Disregarding your abuse of illegal mako-laced substances,”_ some shuffling noises, _“does, perhaps, this footage taken from a local security camera… ring any bells?”_

A short pause, presumably as the subject watches a fragment of the video. Then a terrified, wheezing noise. _“I s-swear—I swear we didn’t m-mean for it to get that far! And—nothing even h-happened! Th-that—that man stopped us!”_

 _“If we cracked down on every sexual assault case that happened in the Slums, half the people living there would be in jail,”_ Tseng says dismissively. _“That is a petty job for the Midgar police, not for the Investigation Sector. No, we are interested in your account of the events that transpired. If what you have to say is of use, we may be persuaded to be somewhat more… lenient.”_

_“What… what do you want to know?”_

_“Everything you can recall. Tell me exactly what your experience of assaulting two teenage girls was like, Earnest.”_

An audible shudder. _“W-well, Jack spotted them first, walking together down the street. He s-said… any girls walking around unprotected like that in the middle of the night… w-were just a-asking for it.”_ He chokes. _“The—the others agreed, and I…”_

_“Keep going.”_

_“The b-brunette… she was very pretty,”_ he says faintly. _“S-so I—I was high at the time! It felt like… I was on the top of the world. The mako… I felt so strong. Like I could get away with anything. So I… I agreed too. Of course, when they saw us coming… they ran. We chased._

_“We split up, cornered them in an alleyway. We hadn’t even realized they had a staff through our haze… they fought back. Pissed us all off real good, after the brunette sent Jack reeling, so I grabbed her… Everything after the blonde hit me on the head… is a blur. The last thing I remember clearly is the brunette screaming something about clouds after we’d thrown her friend away and pinned her down…”_

_“Clouds?”_ For the first time, Tseng sounds something other than bored. In fact, for the stoic man, he might even be considered intrigued.

 _Cloud._ She’d been calling to him for protection, just as Sephiroth had. And maybe even Zack had, too, though how he’d managed to mention _clouds_ Sephiroth doesn’t know—

_“Yeah… I remember because I thought it was so strange—who’d say that while being attacked? Can’t even see the sky from the Slums, too. What would she know about clouds?”_

Is that what she meant, by Cloud being hurt _last time?_ If Zack had called him, his wings might also have been…

 _“Interesting,”_ Tseng murmurs. _“You’ve been quite helpful, Earnest Bunbury.”_

But how would she know about Zack’s encounter with Cloud?

 _“R-really?”_ Earnest perks up. _“Then… can I go now?”_

Unless he’d told her, but why would he tell her when he hadn’t even told Sephiroth—

 _“You may,”_ Tseng says. _“Reno.”_

Unless he valued her more than he valued Sephiroth?

 _“Yes, boss!”_ A different voice—a nasally drawl.

Sephiroth shakes his head. Impossible.

_“Would you be so kind as to take out the trash?”_

Cloud is _his_ guardian angel.

_“Ya got it, boss!”_

He wouldn’t discard Sephiroth for someone else, would he?

_“Wh-what—”_

_Would he?_

A bang. Static.

-

Lazard cuts the recording with a _click,_ a sour look on his face. “Was killing him absolutely necessary?”

“It is the only definite way of ensuring he remains silent,” Tseng says. “Which is vital, considering it is of utmost importance our target remains unaware of our movements.”

“You said this interview was interesting. How so?” Lazard asks.

“The brunette girl is Aerith Gainsborough,” Tseng says, “a resident of the Sector 5 slums. Fourteen years old, lives with her mother Elmyra Gainsborough. At first, we were unable to identify her companion, but with the clue Bunbury gave us… They recently took in a thirteen-year-old boy from Nibelheim. It is highly likely that the blonde girl we saw with Miss Gainsborough is, in fact, a blond boy, wearing one of her dresses—money must be tight, after all, from taking in another child. His name is Cloud Strife.”

 _“Clouds,”_ Lazard says in realization.

“Indeed. Furthermore, this boy Cloud shares more than a passing resemblance to the description we’ve been given of our target. And when you consider that SOLDIER Third Zack Fair jumped in to protect a small blond boy…”

“The age difference isn’t large enough for them to be father and son, but—brothers, perhaps?”

Tseng shakes his head. “Our investigations show that the boy is an only child. Nevertheless, our mystery man is clearly connected to him if he is this invested in protecting him. And since scientists are most likely involved, considering his enhancements…”

“The connection could be just about anything,” Lazard finishes grimly. “I wouldn’t even be surprised if something as ridiculous as _clones_ was on the table. Well, at least we have a tenuous affiliation for him now.”

“There is nothing _tenuous_ about it. One of our personnel directly confirmed that they are familiar with each other this morning. She spoke with Miss Gainsborough on the incident herself.”

Cissnei, after all, is _very_ good at her job. Her deceptively sweet, unassuming appearance loosens even most reluctant of mouths. She’s also never been on Cetra-watching duty, so Aerith wouldn’t have recognized her right away. If he’d had the choice, Tseng would not have brought Lazard’s attention to Aerith at all, but…

Proof is proof. He’s already risked taking extra time to confirm his facts. This is the only lead they have; as a Turk, he cannot shirk his loyalties to the Company, no matter his personal ties.

“It appears that our next step would be to directly question Miss Gainsborough or Mr. Strife on their connection to our target,” Lazard muses.

“I believe we should focus on Strife,” Tseng says. “Evidence highly suggests that the swordsman’s connection mainly lies with him, and Miss Gainsborough is simply involved because she took the boy in.”

“What about you, Sephiroth?” Lazard asks the silver-haired man. “What are your thoughts on our new lead?”

Sephiroth blinks. If Tseng had to say, it looks like he hasn’t been paying attention at all since the recording finished, but that would be terribly out of character for him. “What?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet about everything,” the Director answers. “I’d expected you to be more—well, perhaps not excited, but… _outspoken,_ at least, what with how you’ve been pushing the investigation…”

Sephiroth shakes his head. “Pardon me. I have… much to think about,” is all he says, and he sweeps out of the office.

-

It’s a dress day when Tseng sweeps imperiously into the church.

Cloud looks up from the bed of white lilies he’s carefully tending, then nudges Aerith, who’s kneeling over her own patch of pink carnations. “We’ve got company,” he murmurs.

They’ve been anticipating someone for days now. Tseng must have fought hard to delay the Turks’ action, even for a few days, but even he cannot escape ShinRa’s demands forever without drawing suspicion. He’d hoped that they’d at least be able to figure out how to summon Aerith’s purifying water in time, but it seems like they aren’t so lucky.

They stand together to face the Turk. “Did you need something, Tseng?” Aerith asks carefully. Defensively.

“I have a few questions for you, yes,” he answers. “As well as your new friend… Cloud, was it?”

Cloud pauses in brushing dirt off his sky-blue cotton dress to nod shortly.

“Several days ago, you revealed to one of my subordinates that you were familiar with a certain blond man,” Tseng says, watching their faces carefully. When neither of them show surprise, he nods. “You knew, then.”

Aerith frowns. They both know that the evidence the Turks have so carefully compiled leaves no room for playing innocent, so she doesn’t bother to lie. “We knew too late, but yes.”

“I see,” Tseng says. “And I presume he fled upon also receiving this information. Do you know where he is now?”

“Even if we did,” Aerith says, “it’s not like we’d tell you—”

“Would you happen to know a way to get him to come here?”

Aerith shakes her head. “He won’t come.”

“No?” Tseng raises a brow. “You have no way of contacting him? Not even when he saved you the other day?”

Aerith shakes her head again. “He just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Tseng sighs. “How unfortunate. You see, he seems to always appear right when someone is in danger. I would hate to put one of you in danger. Are you certain you cannot give me a way of reliably contacting him?”

Aerith stubbornly juts her chin outward. “No.”

“Very well, then. If I am unable to establish contact, then my orders are to take at least one of you into custody.”

At least a dozen Turks step out from their hiding places in shadowy alcoves.

Aerith jerks back. “What? Hey, no, wait—”

Tseng glances at Cloud, briefly meeting his gaze. Cloud looks back, understanding the conflict reflected in the man’s dark eyes.

He hadn’t wanted to involve Aerith at all. Any attention brought to the Cetra is bad attention that will inevitably lead back to Hojo.

The one they will be taking is Cloud.

Cloud nods. The tightness in Tseng’s expression fades, just a little.

He steps in front of Aerith, gently nudging her back and away from the approaching Turks.

“Cloud, what do you think you’re doing?” When Cloud offers his arms to the Turks, Aerith cries again, “What the _hell_ do you think you’re _doing,_ Cloud? This is all some kind of sick joke, right? Fight back! Why—what—”

“It’s all right, Aerith,” Cloud says. “They won’t hurt me.” _Not like Hojo will hurt you if they take you in instead._

Tseng nods. “We will take utmost care to ensure that Mr. Strife is well taken care of, Miss Gainsborough,” he reassures. “We may even be able to arrange supervised visits.”

“Keep working on our project, okay?” Cloud says. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Aerith trembles as her self-assured air drops, looking very small and afraid for once, and Cloud suddenly remembers with regret that she’s all of fourteen years old. “You—you can’t do this. Cloud, you said you didn’t want to go to ShinRa. You don’t have to do this. You can fight. You _can._ And then we’ll run away together. _Cloud—”_

Cloud shakes his head, trying to convey his thoughts to her. He can’t take this many Turks without revealing his enhancements at best, and outright changing forms at worst. Fighting back, escaping, will only bring down ShinRa’s rage full-force on them both, and he can’t have that—not when things are still so uncertain. At least right now, they’re approaching him from the angle of a potential ally. If they have reason to believe that he is hostile…

He’s already spent one lifetime on the run from ShinRa. He refuses to involve Aerith in something like that again, especially not when she’s still this young.

At least this way, he can sit stubbornly in whatever glorified jail cell they’ll stick him in and watch their frustration fester as there is still no response from their target. Holding loved ones hostage is a well-tried method—one that really would have worked to draw him out, too, except Tseng is clearly doing all he can within his own power to keep Aerith out of things as well.

So it’s too bad for them that the only leverage they have on him is _himself._

(He’d never valued his own safety very much anyways.)

-

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Strife,” Tseng says as the train slowly begins its ascent back above Plate.

Cloud simply nods, eyes fixed on the slums as they slowly sink further and further beneath them. His fingers play with the strap of the bag of clothing they’d allowed him to pack. Unfortunately, he’d had to leave all his weapons behind—his sword, his materia, his Ma’s knife…

 _That_ materia, though, lies safely nestled between his collarbones underneath his dress, much too small to be considered more than a pretty bauble.

“I’m curious, however,” Tseng continues. “What was that ‘project’ you spoke of before we left?”

“After we were attacked, Aerith wanted to be able to defend herself. Materia’s a good start for someone like her.”

 _No lies,_ Cloud reminds himself. _Stick to half-truths only. It’ll be harder for them to tell if you’re lying._

“So you know about her… unique condition,” Tseng says, clearly baiting.

Cloud frowns. “She told me. And it’s not a _condition._ It’s just who she is.”

Tseng nods, satisfied with Cloud’s careful answer. “What led you to believe that a mere country boy could help someone whose heritage is so intimately entwined with the very existence of materia itself?” It’s not meant to be demeaning—Tseng is genuinely curious. And with good reason, after all; no one can be more attuned to the Planet’s power than a Cetra.

“My Ma comes from a long line of shard pickers,” Cloud says, and he allows himself to smile fondly. “I’ve worked a lot with small materia, since they don’t sell well—too dangerous for jewelry, too weak for battle. They work fine for Aerith, too.”

Tseng nods, and Cloud turns to stare out the train window again. They’ve almost reached Sector 1.

“We both understand you were acting to protecting Miss Gainsborough when you agreed to leave with us,” Tseng says. “Your efforts are not unappreciated. Not only does your diffusion of a potentially hostile situation greatly improve our chances of achieving our objective in creating an alliance with this friend of yours, but if she told you of her heritage… then you understand how much danger she will face if she ever reenters ShinRa Headquarters. I, too, do not wish to see an innocent girl be subjected to the hospitality of the Science Department. However… know that should I ever receive direct orders to take her into custody, my position is such that I will not be able to deny them. I will, to my utmost ability, reduce her involvement as much as possible in this investigation’s files. However, I require your cooperation in refraining from mentioning her any further—specifically, in creating any greater connection between her and the mysterious man we chase.”

Cloud nods.

Tseng continues, “In this case, we were fortunate that you are logically the better option to take into custody, so it will raise no questions. You’ve been saved twice to Miss Gainsborough’s once, after all, as well as share a strong physical resemblance to our subject.”

“Twice?” Cloud blinks, surprised.

Tseng casually doesn’t look at him. “In the Wastelands, of course.”

Cloud resists the urge to sigh. So they really have tied him back to that incident, or at least suspect it. But there's no point in trying to cover it up; now that they have him in custody they could ask Zack to confirm his identity at any time. It may be petty and selfish, but Cloud _really_ doesn’t want to see Zack again any time soon; there are just too many complicated emotions involved that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to hide, not without the distraction of a life-threatening situation.

“I didn't see anyone other than the black-haired SOLDIER that day in the Wastes," Cloud decides to say. "But I got a pretty bad knock on the head from the monster's tail. I don't remember much."

Tseng isn’t as unprofessional as to openly look displeased, but Cloud knows the Turk well enough to spot it anyways. “I see. What, exactly, is your connection to this man, then?”

Cloud gives the same answer he gave the burly shopkeeper, saying meaningfully, _“I’ve_ never met him.”

They fall silent. Cloud knows the future version of Tseng well enough to know that he is hastily crossing out and redrawing ties to fit the new information he’s been given. He can almost see it scrawling across the Turk’s brain: whether Cloud really is connected to the person they’re chasing at all, or if Cloud is simply lying to them, and if he’ll be able to extract any information without implicating Aerith if their only lead really is her—

 _That’s right,_ Cloud thinks grimly. _The more you ask me, the more Aerith gets involved, too. What’s more important to you, your dedication to solving this case for ShinRa, or keeping her safe?_

He hates having to bank on a Turk’s morals, but this is the same man who’d spent over a decade skirting around Hojo’s demands, who’d sought out and tried to save Zack, who’d always bent and twisted his orders to keep Aerith as safe and happy as possible until he’d had no other choice. Cloud is fairly certain he’s chosen a secure bargaining chip—at least for now. Tseng will undoubtedly do his best to stall other departments’ involvement and investigate around Aerith, but once they grow frustrated with the delay…

Well. Cloud will deal with things as they come. _His_ only job is to stall, too—long enough for Aerith to complete their “project”, well enough that Aerith will still be safe under Tseng’s protection when he leaves. As soon as their project is complete and delivered, he has _other_ plans. Reactor-related plans. At that point, ShinRa will be hot on his tail regardless of whether they know the truth or not, so if he has to resort to revealing who he is to keep ShinRa’s eyes off Aerith, then he will.

_Aerith, please hurry._

-

“So there have been rumors circulating about that pretty blonde thing the Turks brought in two weeks ago,” Genesis comments.

Angeal says, “You mean the girl they’re questioning about the—”

“The mysterious dark swordsman, the glowing golden warrior, the valiant savior of the helpless? Oh, yes,” Genesis purrs. “That’s the one.”

Sephiroth frowns. He's still dissatisfied with how the Turks had chosen to bring in the blonde girl. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying any attention whatsoever to the remainder of the conversation after the mention of Cloud, but the brunette girl had appeared much closer to Cloud than the blonde. Either way, he has no interest in either girl, or in whatever unsavory methods the Turks are undoubtedly using in their interrogations; he's content waiting for Tseng's next report.

"The information about this investigation is highly classified," Sephiroth says. "How are there rumors about it already?"

"Sephiroth, you and I are both perfectly aware that the more classified something is, the more everyone in ShinRa HQ and their mothers enjoy nattering on about it," Genesis says, rolling his eyes. "Like the size of your di—"

“So what have they been saying?” Angeal interrupts. “Surely nothing— _dishonorable?”_

Genesis waves a hand. “Oh, none of that, she’s only thirteen, or so I’ve heard. Anyhow, the Turks have been rather tight-lipped about their investigations, and she hasn’t been seen by anyone outside of their Department since they brought her in. Some of our Seconds overheard this blonde Turk mentioning to her redheaded friend, though, that our adorable interrogee was rather interested in hearing about our fanclubs! Most interestingly, the only one she joined was _mine,”_ he says smugly. _"Both_ of them.”

Sephiroth raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Congratulations. Your good looks and charm have even managed to win over a thirteen-year-old girl.”

Genesis waves a hand again. “Oh, pish, no one needs your sarcasm, Sephiroth. No, what I’m interested in is—do you think she’ll tell her mysterious friend about me? Perhaps she'll give me a glowing endorsement, which will result in _me_ being the one to persuade him to ally with ShinRa. Of course, it isn’t quite the grand act I imagined to gain myself the title of hero, but—”

 _“No,”_ Sephiroth says. He narrows his eyes at Genesis; the red-haired man has been unusually petty and irritable as of late, and as soon as he’d picked up on Sephiroth’s admittedly unusual investment in this investigation, he hasn’t failed to take any chance to needle him about it.

“Oh?” Genesis smirks. “How can you be so certain? She didn’t join _your_ fanclub, after all. It appears there are still some who don’t consider you the end-all-be-all, my friend. And who’s to say her opinion doesn’t reflect that of her friend’s? Dear—what was her name again, it had something to do with the weather…”

 _The weather?_ How oddly amusing, that this girl and Cloud would share a common theme in names. Perhaps that is what had drawn them together, Sephiroth muses.

“I believe it was Cloud,” Angeal says, and he shoots Sephiroth a quick look. “An… interesting name, truly.”

Sephiroth asks incredulously, _“Cloud?_ Are you absolutely certain?”

Genesis snorts, mistaking Sephiroth’s reaction for mockery. “So says the great _Sephiroth.”_

“Yes, Cloud, at least according to Zack,” Angeal says. “He’s been keeping up with all the gossip due to his… involvement in the case, but he was curious enough about how the investigation was going that he asked me to check in on it officially. Lazard was rather tight-lipped about particulars, but from what I could gather, after the Turks took in their main lead—Miss Cloud, according to rumors—it’s seemed to grind to something of a standstill. She claims that they’ve never met, nor did he leave any way to contact him, but Tseng is adamant that she knows something. Personally, I think Lazard is beginning to suspect that the Turks are too stubborn to admit that their lead is a dead end after spending months to find it.”

“I need to speak with her,” Sephiroth says, urgency unintentionally bleeding into his voice. “This… _Cloud."  
_

When the other two give him looks, one confused, one concerned, he says coldly, “Their interrogation tactics are less effective in this case, as they are limited by ensuring their actions do not negatively impact C—the swordsman’s opinion of ShinRa. I would like to supervise their investigation myself to see if this girl is truly hiding anything, and if she is not, provide the… _motivation_ the Turks so clearly need to move on.”

Genesis snorts. “Best of luck with that. As I said, they guard her as if she held the secrets to the Promised Land itself.”

Sephiroth sneers. “I do believe that nothing and no one would be able to keep me out of anywhere I wanted to be, not even yourself, Genesis.”

Genesis bristles, hand falling to his sword. “Oh? Why don’t you prove your assertion here and now, then, Sephiroth?”

“Gladly.” Sephiroth reaches for his own sword.

“Wait!” When both whirl to glare at him for his interruption, Angeal holds up his hands with a sigh. “If you’re so dead-set on dueling it out, most of the Seconds are out on missions today. Which means…”

The two Firsts are barreling around the corner toward the SOLDIER Training Room before he even finishes his sentence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for all your comments/kudos/bookmarks etc!! i do try to answer comments when i can but sometimes they get buried ;;
> 
> longer chapter this time + a lot heavier editing than usual, hope y'all enjoy <3

_“Shit,”_ Cloud says, staring down at his PHS. The Turks had given him one when they’d first brought him in. It’s obviously bugged, but at least he can use it to check up on Aerith, as well as… things like this.

He scrolls through the email again, stopping at the paragraph that is causing him particular headache.

_Yesterday afternoon, Genesis was spotted limping out of the SOLDIER Training Room, clutching his shoulder. SOLDIER Firsts Angeal and Sephiroth were seen exiting a few minutes later—imagine, a full-on spar between ShinRa’s golden trio! Despite his injuries, we’re sure Genesis outshone the other two with his signature style and fiery flare! All of Red Leather’s behind you, Genesis! Get well soon!_

“Isn’t this too soon?” Cloud runs a hand through his untied hair, messing it up even further. Genesis’s injury shouldn’t have happened for at least another two weeks. Had he changed something vital to the timeline? Does this mean everything is going to move up? He has to speak to Aerith.

His fingers easily remember the well-used number. It’d taken a good week and many fruitless calls to get Aerith to forgive him for leaving, and longer still for her to forgive herself, but given that both of their shiny new PHSs were “gifts”, he figures it’s just desserts to let the Turks foot the bill. He lays back on the bed as the tone dials.

The room the Turks had given him is small but surprisingly nice. It makes sense, though; getting on his good side is supposed to help them get on his “friend’s” good side too. Although it lacks windows, it makes up for it with a clean twin-sized bed, a small dresser, a wooden desk, and, most importantly, no lock on the door. He’s free to enter and exit as he pleases—given, of course, that he allows one of the two Turks constantly on rotation guarding his door to accompany him, and he doesn’t leave the Turk floor.

He’d thought he’d have gone mad with boredom by now, but Elena, barely a Turk-in-training with an amusing everyday coffee delivery routine, is surprisingly good company. She’s the one who told him about the fanclubs, which Cloud is grateful for. Reno and Rude, too, aren’t too different from how they were _before,_ though sometimes the redheaded Turk is a bit too unrepentantly cocky for Cloud’s taste.

Aerith picks up in less than three rings. _“Cloud!”_ She sounds surprised. _“I was just about to call you.”_

Cloud blinks. “Oh?”

_“Yeah! So, your birthday is coming up, right?”_

“My birthday?” Cloud frowns. He thought it’d already passed.

 _“Let me guess, you forgot,”_ Aerith says. _“It’s August nineteenth, right?”_

“Ah.” Right. His birthday is different this time around.

Aerith snickers. _“You really did forget, didn’t you? Oh, well, never mind that—I spoke with Tseng when he was here earlier, and he said he’d be able to bring you down here to visit me!”_

“Really? He agreed to do that?” Cloud repeats, somewhat bewildered. They’ve been keeping him inside under lock and key, after all.

 _“With a little bit of pressuring,”_ Aerith amends. _“I may have emphasized how happy it would make me, and how important it was that I personally deliver your present, and how you never really got to celebrate your birthday when you were in Nibelheim, and—”_

“Okay, okay. You’re pretty manipulative when you want to be, Aerith.”

Aerith sniffs fake-haughtily. _“Of course I am. So you’d better come, all right? It’s_ very important _that you’re here to get your present. I spent a long time working on it, you know.”_

“ … I see,” Cloud says. “Thanks, Aerith. You’re a lifesaver.”

_“You know I am. You owe me, Cloud! I’ll see you in a couple days!”_

A fond smile tugs at Cloud’s lips. “See you.”

-

“What is your connection to the man in black?” Tseng asks for what feels like the nth time.

“I _told_ you, we’ve never met,” Cloud answers for what also feels like the nth time.

This has been the daily routine for the past few weeks. Fortunately for Cloud, the Turks can’t implement their signature interrogation techniques without compromising their objective of not-pissing-other-him-off, and he’s good enough under pressure that Tseng can’t quite pick up on his half-truths, half-lies.

“Do you have any _other_ connection besides your nonexistent physical contact, then? Written correspondence? Blood ties? Anything?” Tseng, for once, sounds just as exasperated as Cloud feels.

Cloud shrugs. “Who knows?”

Tseng pinches the bridge of his nose. “That isn’t a direct answer, Cloud.”

“Maybe the direct answer is something you don’t want to hear.”

Tseng regards him for a long moment, then sighs. “If so, that would be unfortunate for both of us. If you truly cannot help us find your companion… Sephiroth has recently been pushing hard to sit in on one of our conversations. I will not be able to stall him much longer, Cloud. The moment he judges you to be of no use to our investigation, he will call to bring Aerith in, and my superiors are unlikely to say no. After all, no one says no to Sephiroth.”

Cloud jolts. “Sephiroth has—?”

“Yes,” Tseng confirms, tilting his head as he watches Cloud’s reaction. “It’s quite unusual for him to take such interest in matters outside his direct purview. No, even those are handled with an efficient dedication that speaks only of duty. This… is different. Would you happen to have any idea why, Cloud?”

“No,” Cloud says, but he’s unsettled enough that it’s too stubborn, too quick. Tseng’s gaze sharpens.

“Cloud, any information would help. You know this.”

“ … Sephiroth was part of why I came to Midgar in the first place,” Cloud answers quietly, another careful half-truth. “I idolized him. I was just surprised to hear he was interested, that’s all.”

“‘Idolized’? Past tense, as in…”

“Not anymore.”

“Why—”

“I think I’m done for today,” Cloud says, fixing his gaze on the wall behind Tseng’s head, and the Turk is wise enough to know that he has no chance of coaxing another word out of him.

“Very well,” he says, relenting. For now. “I will continue to rebuff Sephiroth’s attempts for as long as I am capable. But we will be discussing this in the future, Cloud. You won’t be able to hide the truth for much longer. Not if you want Aerith to stay safe.”

It’s both a threat and a warning. After all, Tseng wants Aerith safe, too.

Fortunately for both of them, Cloud has no plans to hide the truth for much longer at all.

-

“Cloud!” Aerith engulfs him in a tight, floral-scented hug the moment he steps into the church, Tseng remaining behind to guard the door. “Can’t believe I missed seeing your pretty face, SOLDIER boy.”

“Aerith,” Cloud answers, wrapping his arms around her in return. “Missed you too.”

“Did Tseng actually decide to stay outside?” she asks. “I asked him for some privacy—I told him I wanted to take this chance to dress you up in something new—but you know how he is…”

“The Turks are pretty nosy,” Cloud says, “but even they have things they don’t want to see.” He holds a finger up to his lips.

“Good.” She points at her ear. _Bugged?_ she mouths.

Cloud nods.

“ … So, I’ve been training some. I ask whichever Turk is guarding me to take me out each day. I think I’ve really gotten stronger—my materia work is a lot better now.” Her light tone belies her next words. “I never want to see… I just—never again. You know?”

“I know,” Cloud affirms quietly, pressing his forehead up against hers in a gesture of comfort. He knows how hard Aerith has been working; she’d pushed herself so hard the weeks after the incident, and he’s almost glad the Turks had been there to keep her from neglecting her health.

Aerith presses back, squeezing him tight and desperate. But all she says is, “I can hear the Planet much clearer, now, too. Your suspicions were right. I was limited by my MP.”

Cloud hums. “So you’ve figured it out, then?”

“Almost,” Aerith says. “I just need your help.”

“Mine?” Cloud asks, bewildered. “But I don’t…” Aerith is the Cetra here, not Cloud. How would he be able to help with the rain? Aerith had done it on her own, _before…_

“The Planet told me that the Lifestream can be thought of as not only a flow of life energy, but water that gives life itself,” Aerith says. “Hence the name. Isn’t that fascinating? But I think only someone who’s been in the Lifestream would be able to fully comprehend it. Like I said, your suspicions were right.” She gives him a meaningful look.

“Oh.”

“Too bad you’d have to be dead to ever have seen the Lifestream, right?” she continues cheerfully. “Do you think I’d ever be able to meet someone who’s come back from the dead, Cloud? What kind of person do you think Gaia would even bother kicking back out after they died?”

Cloud sighs and mutters, “Yeah, rub it in…” He shakes his head. “Well, what do I need to do?”

Aerith takes his hand and guides him to the flowers. “Kneel here,” she says. “Hands over mine.”

When Cloud carefully clasps her hands in his, he gasps at the feeling of warmth emanating from them. She smiles mischievously and cracks her entwined fingers open ever so slightly, revealing the gentle green glow of the White Materia between her palms.

“Now, close your eyes and think about your purpose,” Aerith says. “And what we talked about. How did it feel? At first, then later on, too. Painful? Peaceful?”

Cloud thinks about how it felt, all those different times—falling at the North Crater, engulfed in Mideel, even resting peacefully in the aftermath of his battle with Kadaj.

“At first, it… burns,” he murmurs, barely aware that he’s even speaking. “Like green fire. It wears you down until it’s too much, the voices, _everything—_ if you aren’t careful, they’ll strip you down to nothing. But if you can hold on to yourself… it cleanses you, too. Washes it all away until there’s nothing left but _you.”_

That’s what had happened, when he’d fallen in. The Lifestream is knowledge, the souls of all people past, and what makes one’s identity more than one’s own memories? The more he’d absorbed, the more the Lifestream had absorbed him. He’d been more than himself; he’d been everyone. And when he’d been everyone, he’d been no one.

He’d almost given up as it’d eaten away at him, battered at his barriers until it’d broken down all the lies he’d used to delude himself, until he’d had nothing left but the tiny, stubborn part of himself that had grown to genuinely care for his newfound friends. It’d started with Jessie’s smiles and badgering, Biggs’s constant worry for his friends, Wedge’s unusual fondness of cats, and back then he’d tried to stamp it out ruthlessly like a weed. But like a weed, deep-rooted and persistent, it’d kept growing back larger and larger as he’d met more and more of AVALANCHE.

(In a way, his false persona had protected that part of himself, the tiny part left of _Cloud_ hidden somewhere deep inside, by being the first buffer between him and the Lifestream. But then again, that persona had been created to protect himself in the first place, to bury what was too painful to accept until it was too late to deny.)

So when Tifa had come in search of _Cloud,_ she’d found that hidden part of his self, built him up and pulled him back out. And with his false identity—the lies, the infection, the doubt—lost to the Lifestream, there had been no one but Cloud, just Cloud, and that alone had been incredibly freeing for all his shame when he’d faced his friends once more.

_And Genesis, these SOLDIERs, those infected by the Calamity not of their own will—do they deserve this cleansing, this peace, this freedom as well? After all they have done?_

“I really think so, yes,” Cloud answers quietly. “They do.”

Aerith’s sharp gasp makes Cloud’s eyes fly back open. The White Materia burns in their combined grasp, and suddenly Cloud notices water, pure and bright, bubbling up from the flowerbed.

“You did it,” Cloud breathes in awe.

“No,” she corrects, curling her hands over his. _“You_ did it.”

-

Cloud stares bemusedly as Aerith shoves a long black cloak in his hands. Aerith says, “You may have gotten a tiny bit taller, but your face hasn’t changed at all.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. Won’t matter anyways.”

“Just because you’d be _fine_ doesn’t mean that you can’t make things easier on yourself later on,” Aerith scolds, reaching into the pockets of her dress and pulling out three empty potion vials. They clink as she fills them with the water still cheerily bubbling up from the ground. “You can’t make your poor vampire friend do _everything_ for you, no matter how good he is at being sneaky.”

“Potions?”

“Why not?” Aerith pulls out a cardboard box from beneath a pew, then his Ma’s knife. She holds out a hand for the cloak, then carefully wraps it around the glass vials and the sheathed blade.

“How lazy of you, packing my present at the last minute,” Cloud says dryly.

“Oh hush, you. Let me wrap it in peace.”

“Do you even have wrapping paper—” Cloud cuts himself off with a sharp inhale upon seeing her tie the box shut with a long pink hair ribbon. “Aerith…”

She smiles at him. “I thought it’d be a nice finishing touch. It’s not the real thing, but…”

Cloud shakes his head. “It was always more about the memories, not the effects.”

“I know, but… oh well. You’ll just have to rely on your own for protection. Now.” She stands up and wipes her hands off on her dress. “You said that everyone at ShinRa besides the Turks still thinks you’re a girl. We’ll dress you up real nice and pretty for those poor hardworking boys above the Plate, won’t we?”

Cloud groans.

-

“What’s _in_ it, though, yo?” Reno shakes the box with a frown.

“Hey, be careful!” Cloud says. “I told you, there’re potions inside. That means they can _break,_ dumbass.”

“Yeah, but what _else?_ Ya can’t tell me yer girlie just gave ya some lameass potions when ya ain’t even gonna be steppin’ outside for at least a good few more months, yo.”

“First, don’t call her that,” Cloud says with infinite patience, “and second, she gave me some new clothes, too. Which is a _good thing,_ because otherwise your shaking would have wrecked the potions by now.”

“New clothes?” Reno raises a brow. “Anythin’ like what yer wearin’ right now? ‘Cause damn—”

“Reno,” Tseng says, cutting his subordinate off as he strides through the automatic doors into the lobby of the ShinRa Building. Cloud follows closely behind—

Only to run smack into the Turk’s back.

“ … Sephiroth,” Tseng greets. Cloud freezes.

“Tseng,” Sephiroth returns cordially. Then, “Miss… _Cloud,_ is it not?”

Reno makes a choking noise, half hysterical laughter, half hysterical fear.

Cloud can relate.

-

“Strife is fine,” the girl says quietly, eyes flickering up to his face before darting down to the floor. “ … Sir,” she adds belatedly, fidgeting anxiously with the hem of her blue-trimmed dress.

Sephiroth studies this girl. Strife. She does look strikingly like Cloud, from the shape of her large eyes to the slope of her slightly-upturned nose to the curve of her lips. Her face is slightly rounder with youth, but he can see it easily slimming to match his as she gets older. Yet while her hair matches his exact shade of pale gold, her eyes are dull, the stormy gray-blue of an overcast sky, not the fascinating swirl of bright, gold-edged green-blue he’s long memorized. Finally, he asks, “Your name is truly _Cloud?”_

“That’s me,” she answers, almost blandly, a spark of _something_ in her gaze as she meets his eyes again—then looks back away, spark gone. Her teeth worry at her bottom lip, a nervous tic.

Sephiroth frowns, unreasonably angered by her meek actions. “But are you truly?” With that, he turns on his heel and sweeps into the elevator.

As the doors close behind him, he can hear the redheaded Turk ask, “What was _that_ all about, yo?”

“Who knows,” the girl answers, still in that same bland tone of voice.

“Enough of that,” Tseng says. “Let’s go.”

Sephiroth paces the tiny length of the elevator as it climbs slowly up ShinRa Tower. Strife is shy, timid, soft—nothing like the fearless warrior she shares a name with. Cloud had been soft-spoken, yes, but never _timid._ He never would have trailed quietly after the Turks, never would have fiddled nervously with his clothing, never would have left Sephiroth unacknowledged without a small smile and a gentle gesture. Never would have looked at Sephiroth with a blank, unreadable gaze, as if he were a stranger.

The eyes are wrong, the age is wrong. The _sex_ is wrong. And yet, that spark in her eyes, that _something—_

Sephiroth curses lowly under his breath.

There’s no way _Strife_ is _Cloud._ It’s impossible.

He has to believe it’s impossible.

(Otherwise, it would mean Cloud has forgotten him, left him behind. And if he has, then what’s left of Sephiroth’s heart might truly shatter.)

-

It’s about a month into Cloud's captivity—sorry, _custody—_ and a week into Genesis’s degradation that Tseng brings him into a different interrogation—sorry, _interviewing—_ room than usual.

“Sephiroth seems to have made his judgment based on your encounter the other day, and the executives have lost patience with our lack of progress as a result,” Tseng says before they enter, looking almost weary. “But I managed to persuade Director Lazard and President Shinra to give you another chance. Both will be present during this interview, Cloud, looking to see if there's still any value to keeping you here. Your usual tactics will no longer work. Any more of your… prevarication, and they may make the final push for me to bring in Aerith.”

Cloud nods. This will be his last interview session anyways; he plans to leave tonight. In this case, he may as well go wild with whatever information he wants to dump on them last-minute—all the better for maximizing a wild goose chase in the future. “Got it.”

“Very well. Then let's proceed.”

They enter the room, Tseng's hand hovering behind Cloud's back as he guides him to sit on a straight-backed metal chair in the middle of the room. Cloud very carefully does not look at either of the two Shinra executives sitting on much more comfortable chairs by the wall. He’s sure they’ve each visited at least a few of their sessions before, albeit unseen; let them think their visible presence is intimidating him, like they want.

“We’re going to try something different today, Cloud. This here,” he says, gesturing at a machine with a series of wires and a screen, “is a polygraph. A lie detector, in simpler terms. They’ve long been proven to be less than reliable, but they remain a useful way to monitor things such as body temperature, pulse rate, and respiration—in other words, the relative level of anxiety the subject is experiencing. We will be using this today for the benefit of our… audience.”

Cloud takes in the machine and its wires, the patches where he knows it will attach to his skin. He huffs lightly, a silent concession, and holds out his arms for Tseng to begin the process. With each node attached to his arms, his neck, his temples, a colored line on the screen spikes and begins marking out a pattern.

“To keep this as simple as possible,” the Turk says as he works, “I will ask you yes-or-no questions. Please remember what we discussed beforehand…”

President Shinra interrupts, “What exactly does that mean, Tseng?”

“Simply motivation to answer as straightforwardly as possible, President,” Tseng answers blandly, stepping away after attaching the last node. “Cloud, do you know the man we've been discussing?”

Cloud stares down at his clenched fists and thinks of Aerith. “Yes.”

“However, you have never met him, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How is that possible?” Shinra interrupts again.

Cloud frowns. “That’s not a yes or no question.”

“Cloud…” Tseng says warningly.

Lazard interjects, “If I may ask a few questions of my own, Tseng?”

“Of course, Director.”

“Cloud, correct?” Lazard asks, surprisingly gentle. “The recording I reviewed with Tseng shows that you were out of the frame when the man rescued you and your friend. Were you unconscious at the time?”

“No.”

“However, you’ve reportedly said in previous sessions that you’ve never met him before. Does this include introducing yourself, speaking to him, and any other sort of contact, both in person and digitally?”

“Yes.”

Lazard nods. “Very well. Then your brunette friend, Miss… Gainsborough, I believe her name was? She was shown to be quite familiar with your friend. Does she know him well?”

“Depends on your perspective,” Cloud says.

“A yes or no answer, please, Cloud.”

“… Yes. Relatively speaking.”

“So she knows him better than you do?”

Tseng frowns. “Director, we already agreed that only one of—”

Lazard holds up a hand. “Let the boy answer, Tseng. Does she know him better than you do, Cloud?”

A corner of Cloud's mouth kicks up. The perfect question. “No.”

“What?! How is that possible? The girl has met the man but doesn't know him as well as the boy who's never met him before?” Shinra fusses. “Are you sure that machine of yours works, Tseng?”

“As I explained before, President, it does not detect the lies themselves, only the possible anxiety they inspire,” Tseng says with infinite patience. “And even then, there are many reasons someone would experience such anxiety while being questioned, even without lying. It is, however, the simplest way to show you and Director Lazard the signs that all Turks are trained to watch for. Director, do you have any other questions to ask?”

“Just a few,” Lazard answers. “Cloud, does Miss Gainsborough know a way to contact this man?”

Cloud sighs and meets Tseng’s gaze levelly. _You’d better keep up your end of the deal,_ he tries to tell him with his eyes alone. It’s only after Tseng gives him the minutest of nods that Cloud answers, “Aerith’s only way of contacting him is through me.”

Lazard raises a brow. “And how do you transmit any information to him?”

“ … I speak to him in my head.” Internal monologue counts as speaking to yourself in your head, right?

There's a pause where everyone’s eyes fall to the screen and its many colored lines, but their tracking remains steady; Cloud may be no master liar, but he’s well-versed in controlling his own bodily reactions as long as he concentrates enough. Far better than they’d expect any thirteen-year-old boy to be.

“The boy’s delusional,” Shinra concludes.

“No, we can’t leap to that conclusion yet,” Lazard says. “We aren't sure what methods were used to enhance this man. I'm not putting telepathic communication beyond him. Mako is a famously inexplicable substance, after all.”

Tseng focuses on something else. “Does this, perhaps, have anything to do with your reaction to my mention of Sephiroth the other day? If you speak to him, I presume you know why Sephiroth is so intent on finding him.”

“He got nervous when he heard you say it, that's for sure,” Cloud decides to answer.

Thankfully, that new piece of information seems to be enough to divert Tseng’s attention from the topic of Sephiroth. “Are you saying that he is aware of what we say and do in the moment? Has he been aware of your… status here in ShinRa Headquarters this entire time?”

Cloud shrugs. “Everything I know, he knows.”

“And he has not decided to come here, despite knowing that we have no hostile intent?”

“Yep.”

“Why not?”

“He's… otherwise occupied.”

“And if—hypothetically, of course—you were to be in danger? Would he come then?”

“Are you planning on threatening me now?” Cloud asks coolly. “After all this time? What changed?”

Tseng shoots Cloud a subtle warning look. “You are not the one who should be asking questions here, Cloud—”

“You seem to be someone who appreciates directness,” Lazard interrupts. “Very well. I will be direct. I am asking because it appears we are at a stalemate. Your friend has chosen not to speak with us despite our actions of… relative goodwill. I am no fan of placing children in the line of fire, and still hope to resolve this peacefully, but someone out there is giving out enhancements allegedly on par with Sephiroth’s. If I can get more information on this man and his benefactor with minimal casualties, I will. This is a threat to the security of ShinRa—the safety of my SOLDIERs themselves.”

Cloud’s mouth quirks up a tad scornfully as he narrows his eyes back. He knows this man.

Lazard Deusericus, the Director of SOLDIER. A man who’d cared enough for the safety of his men to turn against ShinRa upon learning of SOLDIER’s origins, yet not enough to speak out against the conversion of hundreds to mindless clones. A man who’d claimed to love the “children of the slums”, yet had knowingly condemned thousands of children to death—both Wutaian and his own SOLDIERs—with his direct wartime orders. Genesis from _before_ had told Cloud much about him.

(Not the worst man on ShinRa’s board by far, yet his passivity rubs Cloud the wrong way. For him to speak of a reluctance to have children in the line of fire… laughable.)

“He’s saved you twice before,” Lazard continues when Cloud says nothing. “Can you be certain that he will not save you this time?”

Cloud shrugs. “I don’t need saving.”

“What if Miss Gainsborough were the one endangered, then?”

The colored lines on the screen in front of him spike dangerously. Tseng's expression, hidden from the other two men sitting behind him, tightens minutely.

“ … He'd come,” Cloud says, more quiet and deadly than he should, but he can’t help the way his chest turns tight and hard at the thought of Aerith in danger. “I wouldn't count on the people responsible surviving it, though.”

“I see,” Lazard says, deep in thought. “So there would be no possibility of negotiation after that, despite it being the only reliable way of speaking with him…”

“I've heard enough,” Shinra says. “You can’t draw him here peacefully, but you can’t find him, either. What am I even paying you for? We can’t have other people manufacturing SOLDIERs. I don’t care how powerful he is, there’s no way he can defeat Sephiroth. Bring the girl in. I want him under control by any means possible, Tseng.”

“Having a vengeful man with First-class level enhancements out for your head would not be in the best interest of your continued health, President,” Tseng reasons, remarkably impassive for how he must be feeling at the moment. “Especially a man whose full capabilities are unknown and who appears well-versed in stealth and evasion. He does not have to _defeat_ Sephiroth in an outright battle—a single lucky shot could end your life.”

“I agree,” Lazard says. “Think of the benefits of having another SOLDIER as skilled as him in our ranks, sir. He’d also be much more willing to share how he got his enhancements with a non-hostile party. If he shows himself to be strictly anti-ShinRa, then we may be forced to resort to other methods, but so far, his rescue of a SOLDIER Third Class gives a good indication of at least a neutral stance. I’d much rather not risk turning him against us permanently just for a chance to speak with him. Just give us more time, sir. Cloud’s already been very helpful. I’m sure that we will continue to make more progress on this case with him here.”

“Fine, you’ve convinced me,” Shinra says finally. “But I’m telling you, Hojo is more than capable of figuring out how he got his enhancements. He’s chomping at the bit, actually. So one more month with no news…”

“Understood,” Tseng says.

-

Cloud positions his “change of clothes” on the sink just so, blocking the hidden camera he’d carefully pinpointed his first day here. While the Turks are courteous enough to not have it pointing directly toward either the shower or the toilet, they aren’t so lax to not have a recording device in the bathroom at all. He’s used this method several times to let out his cramped wings, when the aching grows too distracting to bear.

He places his real change of clothes on top of the closed toilet seat, then turns on the shower, mentally apologizing to Reeve for wasting water; his cause, Cloud hopes, makes up for it. The ambient noise will drown out any suspicious sounds he may make. Quickly, he pulls off the dress and lets it drop carelessly to the floor, then tugs on a pair of loose black cargo pants, the three water-filled vials already safely zipped inside one of its many pockets. He doesn’t put on a shirt; it would just get torn later on. He also remains sock- and shoeless—his shoes, gifted by the Turks, undoubtedly have a tracking device embedded somewhere, and socks will be too slippery and hinder his movement. Lastly, he straps the sheath of his Ma’s knife around his thigh, then wraps the large black cloak around his shoulders, loosely securing the clasp. An excess of black fabric pools around his feet. He makes the mental note to be careful not to trip over it.

That done, he puts his hands on his hips and huffs, scowling the ceiling. There are two vents: one directly in the middle of the ceiling, and one above the door. The one in the middle, the one he plans on using, is for the fan. It’s larger, but it isn’t part of the rest of the ventilation system like the other one is—this one is only meant to pull out humid air from the shower and leads directly outside.

He’s too short to reach it, regardless of if he transforms or not, and he’s not too good at hovering in small spaces yet, which is where the shower curtain rod comes in. He clambers onto the edge of the tub, balancing carefully on his tiptoes as he reaches up to grasp the flimsy rod. Careful not to make any sudden shifts of weight, lest it break, he slowly pulls himself up and swings a leg over the pole, levering his body until it is evenly stretched out across its length.

A whoosh of breath escapes his lungs when no ominous creaking noises sound. The hardest part is over.

Sliding the knife out of its sheath with one hand, he begins working out the screws at the corners of the vent. He wrinkles his nose at the dust sent flying into the air. Clearly, no one has been maintaining it. But, he thinks, recalling one of Reeve’s rants about the tower’s ventilation system not filtering out Midgar’s toxic pollution, ShinRa never really cared about air quality to begin with.

When the vent cover hangs open by a single loose screw, Cloud inches himself into the cramped space. There’s no way the Turks won’t notice the open cover, but he doesn’t have a way to screw it back in from the inside. Fortunately, the fact that the vent’s exit opens far above the ground—a grand total of forty-six floors above the ground, in fact—will keep them well occupied for a good while, Cloud assumes.

A forty-six story fall would be debilitating at best for an enhanced SOLDIER, much less the normal boy the Turks think he is, but Cloud is fortunate enough to not be falling. Instead, the forty-six story boost will be quite helpful in cutting the distance to his next destination.

Floor 50: the SOLDIER offices.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> genesis quotes shakespeare because i said so. he also quotes loveless because it's canon, dramatic bastard that he is,

“It's getting worse, isn't it,” a shadowed figure leaning by the window states. It's not a question. 

Genesis whirls. He'd only stopped by his office briefly to pick up some paperwork, but he hadn't even noticed that anyone had been lying in wait. Impossible—avoiding the perception of a First Class SOLDIER should be _impossible—_

“Your shoulder,” the man clarifies. As if it needed clarification.

“Who are you, stranger? How do you know of my wound?” Genesis demands.

The other inclines his head slightly the direction of Genesis’s right hand, firmly pressed over his left shoulder. “You're clutching it.”

Genesis glowers as he hastily drops his hand but says nothing else, choosing to study the figure instead. He's covered in a draping black cloak, arms crossed over his torso and chin tucked low under a high, zipped-up collar. A hood obscures most of his hair and upper face, but a few stray strands, feathery and golden, peek out and frame his cheeks. His piercing blue eyes, a strange blend of sea and sky, glow brighter than even Sephiroth's own unearthly green from under the hood’s shadow. When he straightens from his misleadingly casual position against the wall, Genesis can see a giant slab of a sword strapped to his back, eerily similar in shape to Angeal's Buster Sword. Small stature, black clothing, golden-blond hair, irrationally large sword… realization dawns.

Distantly, some part of him acknowledges that he should raise the alarm. Alert ShinRa of the stranger's presence. But his loyalties to ShinRa have decidedly waned due to the revelations over the past week, and he is rather intrigued—intrigued as to why this man has ventured into the heart of the most dangerous place for him to be, intrigued as to what he has to say to a First Class like Genesis, intrigued as to why Sephiroth has taken such acute interest in him.

(Yet another part of him is smug that the man has chosen to visit him over Sephiroth. Very few people, if any, would choose Genesis over the esteemed war hero _Sephiroth.)_

So instead, Genesis says with a vicious glee, “Why, you're the one who's gotten all the higher-ups running about in a mindless tizzy! Sephiroth’s gone half mad looking for you, you know. He'll be absolutely infuriated upon realizing I found you first.”

There's a strange flicker in the stranger's eyes upon hearing Sephiroth's name, but he simply raises and lowers one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “He’ll just have to deal.”

Genesis is sorely tempted to roll his eyes. Another strong, silent type. How boring. “Well? Pray tell, what would the mysterious, heroic savior of SOLDIER Thirds ever want with a lowly First such as myself?”

There's a pause. Then, “Hollander's offered to fix you.”

Genesis frowns. This, too, is true; just the other day, Hollander had claimed he could discover a cure, but his conditions… Genesis has no faith in ShinRa, not anymore, but he is no traitor. Not to his own men.

But he's not about to question how the stranger seems to know this piece of information as well. He can recognize a lost cause when he sees one. “What of it?” he asks instead, carefully casual.

“He's lying.”

“What?” Genesis bristles. “How dare you—”

“He wants to use you, not cure you. His experiments are what got you into this situation in the first place. You shouldn't trust him. The things he’ll do to those SOLDIERs he wants you to bring along… ” The man shuts his eyes briefly, as if mourning.

Perhaps he is; perhaps he speaks from personal experience. No one knows where he got his enhancements—does he possibly know so much from some connection with Hollander himself? Genesis would never have thought that a ShinRa scientist would be the one responsible for enhancing men outside the company, but speaking with Hollander has led to quite a few… new revelations.

“And what reason do I have to trust you?” Genesis sneers to hide his wandering thoughts. “As loathe as I am to entrust that bumbling fool with my fate and follow his treacherous requests, at this point, Hollander remains my only chance of survival. Oh, pride is lost! I have no choice, stranger.”

“Well,” says the stranger, “I’m offering you one.” He unfolds his arms and opens his gloved right hand, revealing a small, glittering vial filled with a clear liquid resting on his palm.

Genesis really does roll his eyes this time. “I have not fallen so far as to seek my own end.”

The man sighs, as if exasperated with his paranoia. How delightfully presumptuous. “It's a cure, not a poison.” When Genesis simply raises a brow, he grudgingly elaborates, “There was… a plague, once, with symptoms similar to yours. Blackened skin, bleeding tar, intense pain and seizures… In the end, you'd be consumed completely—if you even survived that long. For years, there was no cure, and people were losing hope, but…” He trails off, lost in memory, then shakes his head, staring down at the vial cradled in his hands. “It was like a miracle.”

Genesis thinks of his own steadily darkening shoulder, the way his nerve endings burn. The ominous way the black creeps further across his back with each passing day. “You said it yourself, stranger; the symptoms are similar. But that was that, and this is this. Why should I believe it will work for me?”

(Miracles don’t exist, after all. Not for monsters.)

The man's glowing eyes bore into his. “Because they have the same cause. You aren’t the only one who suffers because of ShinRa’s _experimentation.”_ He spits out the last word like poison even as he reaches into the folds of his cloak, retrieving two more glass vials. He holds all three out meaningfully.

“What?!” Genesis jerks forward. Hollander had declined to disclose the true cause of his degradation—genetic instability due to decline in J-cell quality and more scientific jargon, he'd prevaricated, without ever elaborating on what exactly J-cells even are. What they do. How they’d failed.

If this strange man speaks of a widespread disease caused by human experimentation, does this relate to his warning about the fate of Genesis's loyal SOLDIERs? Suddenly, his insinuations about Hollander's plans seem all the more ominous, and the prospect of this man being the last survivor of a group of unfortunate souls subjected to the whims of callous science in the name of progress all the more likely.

(Suddenly the man's eyes, the slope of his shoulders, seem weary, and Genesis thinks that his guess that the man is mourning is not so far off.)

Genesis is no fool. If both Sephiroth and Angeal will be affected, too, then… _“When sorrows come, they come not single spies,”_ he murmurs, _“but in battalions…_ How fitting for us three."

But this man can't have simply come to offer him a cure, no strings attached; if he hadn't had any other motives, he might as well have just slipped the cure in their drinks. So Genesis challenges, louder, "I have no reason to believe this isn't simply a scheme to make me doubt Hollander, who claims he is my only chance of salvation. You know this."

“Look.” The man almost sounds exasperated as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, but stops at the last minute, seemingly just remembering his hood. “Believe me, don't believe me—it's your choice. But if Hollander keeps pressing you to do things you think you’ll regret, at least consider it as an alternative.” He sets the vials down on Genesis’s desk with a gentle _clink._

“What of Sephiroth?” Genesis blurts out. “His cells were named incompatible with mine and Angeal's. If he is truly degrading as well… can you be certain this will cure him too?”

“I brought three vials for a reason.” After a pause, the man adds, “Sephiroth… all he ever really wanted was a family. If you don’t trust _this,_ at least talk to him before you make your decision to desert. Hell, just talk to him in general. I think you’d be surprised.”

Genesis raises a skeptical brow, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he says, “You are clearly skilled enough to have broken into the Tower at any time, and it is doubtful any of us would have noticed if you happened to tip some of this _cure_ into a drink or two or three, provided they were strongly flavored enough. You would be quite the miserable strategizer if your objective was to kill any of us, so I suppose I have no choice but to believe that this is no poison. However, the opposite holds true as well: while you could have poisoned us at any time, you also could have cured us at any time, without risking the exposure of your identity. After all, why entrust it to me, only to potentially be rebuffed? Worse, what if I'd been of the mind to attack you and raise the alarm?"

The man tilts his head, seeming confused for the first time. "What's your point? I told you that if you don't believe me, you—"

"My point," Genesis says, quiet and solemn, "is that you risked much to speak with me tonight, stranger. Make no mistake, I am not unquestioning of the veracity and completeness of your information, but I will take it into consideration. Like I said, you could have forced this cure of yours upon me without my knowledge and risked much less. But instead you delivered what you said you would. A choice. Whether it is simply the result of a ploy or not, for this I owe you."

Choices are in dwindling supply these days, at least the ones that truly matter. Perhaps it should be expected, being part of an army, but it seems that all Genesis's high rank has afforded him is more regulations, more orders, more expectations of unquestioning obedience and mindless slaughter as ShinRa gluts itself on their spoils of war. The company truly keeps them all on leashes, so long that they go unnoticed until it is far too late. There is very little Genesis cherishes less than his own autonomy, his individualism, his sharpness of mind, and the fact that ShinRa has blindfolded him and played him for a fool makes his blood boil.

The man studies Genesis for a long time, then shrugs. "A miracle cure won’t change your mindset. There are things you need to figure out for yourself, not forced on you. Not by me, and most definitely not by Hollander. Also…" He glances away. Genesis can see the edge of a smirk in his profile, backlit by the eerie mako-green city glow. “You might want to replace your window lock. Sorry."

Genesis watches, uncomprehending, as the stranger tugs the window open in a smooth motion, then crouches on the ledge like a feline coiled to spring. He leaps.

By the time Genesis rushes over to peer out into the empty night sky, he is gone. A single snow-white feather rests on the windowsill in his place.

-

“So, guess who came to my office last night.” Genesis’s voice drips with a characteristic smug satisfaction that has been missing ever since his strange shoulder injury.

Despite Genesis’s strange upswing in mood, Sephiroth doesn’t seem eager to play any of his games. “Who,” he says, barely glancing up from his paperwork.

Angeal sighs. With each passing day, Genesis seems more and more intent on provoking a repeat of their last fight. Sephiroth’s mounting frustration over being unable to locate the mysterious black-clad swordsman seems to only exacerbate the issue; it feels like the two are increasingly at each other's throats.

“I’ll throw you a bone,” Genesis offers magnanimously. “Blond, blue-eyed, dressed all in black leather just for me…”

“I have no interest in your affairs with prostitutes, Genesis.”

“Not even this one? He’s much prettier than I expected, you know—pale, slender, all big blue eyes and soft face. After hearing about how he so efficiently used his enormous sword to take down the fearsome Midgar Zolom, I was expecting some musclebound—”

Sephiroth’s pen snaps, splattering ink all over some poor officer’s request for supplies for his post in Wutai.

 _I guess he’ll never see that ammunition now,_ Angeal thinks pityingly. Then, because it doesn't seem like Sephiroth is going to pull his composure together enough for words anytime soon, he asks, “The blond swordsman—he just… appeared before you?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, he was quite intent on convincing me to listen to him— _desperate,_ even,” Genesis brags, clearly relishing in how Sephiroth’s expression darkens with each word. For his displeasure to be this visible means he must be absolutely _livid._

“All of ShinRa is on a manhunt for him, yet he apparently made no real attempt to hide his identity from you,” Sephiroth eventually grits out, stiff and icy. “It seems quite unstrategic to reveal himself in such a manner. What would his motivations be to do so with someone he is unfamiliar with?”

“How unflattering for you to assume he is _unfamiliar_ with me,” Genesis says. “You have not, after all, been monitoring who he comes in contact with, as it would be a _horrid_ betrayal of ShinRa Company to not reveal his whereabouts—have you?”

Sephiroth’s face may as well be carved from stone. “I have no knowledge of his location.” Even without twitching a muscle, he still somehow looks remarkably upset about this fact. “However, any _familiarity_ on your part would similarly imply betrayal.”

Genesis waves a hand flippantly, worryingly unconcerned with such notions. “He obscured the majority of his hair and face during our liaison, unfortunately, but there is always an alluring element to the tantalizing unseen—”

Angeal inserts himself hastily as Sephiroth’s restraint visibly thins. “Genesis, stop provoking Sephiroth. Let’s just… go over what we know about him now, all right?”

 _For Sephiroth’s sake more than anything,_ he adds to himself. Angeal is no fool; Sephiroth’s strange questions that night in Wutai, his unusual obsession with this case, his reaction to the name _Cloud—_ Angeal has no doubt that Sephiroth’s angel is involved somehow.

“So,” Angeal continues, “we’ve established that he came to talk to Genesis about something important. He covered his hair and face enough to hide his appearance, but not enough for Genesis to not be able to identify him as the mysterious person from the incident during Zack’s mission. It almost seems like he doesn’t care about being recognized as the swordsman ShinRa is searching for. But he still hid his actual appearance—he’s wary of being identified as anything other than that. Now what, exactly, is he trying to accomplish with this? What do we have in common between these few incidents where he's appeared, where he considers it worth risking being seen at all when he takes such pains to hide himself so completely otherwise?”

“Rescuing SOLDIER Thirds and sneaking into ShinRa Headquarters to speak with Genesis seem hardly related,” Sephiroth says flatly, still ignoring the ink dripping slowly from his white knuckles to splatter all over his papers.

“You’re just jealous it wasn’t _you_ he paid a personal visit to. I told you that girl’s taste in fanclubs was relevant,” Genesis sneers. What remains of the pen creaks under the strain of Sephiroth’s hand.

“Enough.” Angeal interrupts again before it can escalate. “So are you going to tell us what he wanted or not?”

For the first time, Genesis hesitates, his hand moving to unconsciously rest over the lapel of his red leather coat. Angeal watches with bated breath, and for some reason, it feels as if the world does too, teetering on axis, waiting for Genesis’s decision to tip the scales.

Finally, Genesis’s hand drops. “He said… well. You remember the wound I sustained, after that spar two weeks ago, do you not?”

Angeal nodded. “Didn’t it heal after my blood transfusion?”

Genesis slowly shakes his head. “No. Hollander lied. The cut on my shoulder… it’s still there. And it grows worse with each day. Hollander could not—or more likely, upon reflection, _would_ not—disclose much information as to why, but our dear mysterious stranger implied it is a result of the experimentation employed by ShinRa to create… superhuman soldiers. Us.”

“Experimentation?” Angeal is shocked. “Impossible! You and I—we grew up together. There was never any time when we could have been—"

“You know very well that I was adopted. And before that, Hollander claims he had access to my unborn fetus. I know not what your sordid past may be, but according to what the stranger said… we may not be so human after all,” Genesis says ruefully. “Imagine—! We who are thought of as the peak of human perfection, monsters!”

Sephiroth’s eyes are narrowed. _“He_ told you this?”

“About the experimentation, yes, though in not so many words. As for the rest… Hollander did. According to him, I am _genetically unstable,”_ Genesis says sourly. “Imperfect. A failure. And as such, I am degrading. And soon, I will die, unless I comply with his wishes as he constructs a cure. And his wishes…" He barks a dry laugh. "They are truly things that should only be suffered under threat of death."

Angeal feels an odd sort of desperation welling up in his chest. “But I—I don’t _understand._ Why you and not us?”

Genesis shakes his head. _“Alas, my friend, the fates are cruel,”_ he quotes. “‘Tis not only I who will suffer from ShinRa’s folly. It is simply that I suffer sooner. But… perhaps they are not so cruel as to leave us with no hope. I was left bereft of naught but a somber morrow, with no choice but to rely on Hollander’s incompetency—imagine, the cause of my very plight!—for even a chance of survival, but… our blond stranger appeared, like the goddess descended from the sky, and offered me his gift. A cure, for all three of us.”

Angeal frowns. “As much as I want to believe it, this is too good to be true. We don’t even know if he can be trusted. What are his motivations?”

“He could have administered it in secret at any point, with how he is clearly capable of penetrating our defenses undetected, yet I was still offered a choice. I am not so foolish as to take it unquestioningly, but it is in itself already a better option than being forced to do Hollander’s bidding. If I am already fated to eternal slumber, does it truly matter if it is lethal poison or not?”

“I don’t believe he is deceiving you,” Sephiroth says. “He’s… He is trustworthy.”

“That’s _if_ he really is who you think he is,” Angeal points out, unsurprised by Sephiroth’s bare admission of knowing the man. His suspicious behavior this past half-year has been enough to reveal it all. “What if you’re mistaking this person for someone else? You’ve never seen him, after all.”

Sephiroth shakes his head. “No. I _know_ it’s him,” he repeats stubbornly. “I—"

Whatever he is planning to say is interrupted by frantic knocking. "Sirs!" a muffled voice calls through the office door. "Urgent news! The President wants you all to report to his office as soon as possible."

-

“The boy is gone!" President Shinra slams his hands against his desk in rage. “What the hell happened here? How did a mere child manage to escape the Turks’ security?"

"The only evidence left behind is an open vent shaft in the bathroom," Tseng answers stiffly. "However, as it leads directly outside the building, forty-six stories above the ground, we presume the boy had some form of outside help. Help from our target, most likely."

"Him again! He's been a thorn in my side since the day I first heard about him!"

"Taking action in defense of his own privacy, while contrary to our own goals, is hardly an offensive move," Lazard tries to say, but President Shinra bulldozes straight over him.

"We’ve got to bring that girl in—the dark-haired one one from that video tape. She’s our only lead now!”

Tseng narrows his eyes and steels himself to be as coldly logical as possible. “My men have already questioned her. She was quite surprised to find out that her friend was missing, and has absolutely no idea where he or the swordsman may be. Furthermore, Cloud said it himself: she does not have any way of contacting either of them now that he is gone.”

“Then hold her hostage! With the girl in custody, that swordsman of yours—he’ll be _forced_ to come back and face retribution for his actions!” Heidegger says.

“Unfortunately, it's likely to go as well as last time: waiting months with our hostage, only for him to vanish without a trace and barely any new information to show for it. Taking Miss Gainsborough in to investigate may just as well result in the same thing—a vanished hostage with nothing else to show for our efforts, especially as she has even less information on our target than Cloud did. By leaving her where she is, we can still continue to keep tabs on her, and he may even visit if she stays in a familiar, safe location. Not to mention, President—now that the man has shown he is more than capable of breaking in and out of our highly secure facilities undetected, I would not take his death threat so lightly."

"But we can't just leave this matter unattended," Scarlet inserts, "or have you not seen the news yet this morning, Tseng?"

Tseng resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I have," he says, recalling the migraine-inducing headline _NIBEL REACTOR GOES UP IN FLAMES,_ "but Cloud's disappearance—and by extension our target's involvement—and the reactor’s destruction are not likely to be related.”

Scarlet casually inspects her red, dagger-like nails. “If I remember correctly, the boy’s hometown is Nibelheim, isn’t it? Not to mention the timing… I thought Turks didn’t believe in coincidence.”

“It is standard practice to fully investigate all leads before concluding they are simply coincidental, yes,” Tseng says. “However, without high-speed air transport, it is impossible to cross the ocean and reach Nibelheim from Midgar in the span of a single night. Currently, we have received no pertinent reports from the air base in Junon."

"And if they have compatriots?” Scarlet says. “It's possible they aim to distract us with two issues at once. Confuse us and spread us thin.”

Tseng shakes his head. "Cloud has no motive to target his hometown’s reactor. It was fully automated within a year of his birth, and the townspeople have grown remarkably independent of its functions since then—they tend to avoid even speaking of it. Of course, the swordsman’s motivations are unknown, but if it is an ecoterrorist agenda, there are far more convenient—and more active—mako reactors he could have targeted on this continent. This does, however, raise the question of why _anyone_ would want to destroy this reactor in particular. It does not lend itself well to the common protests of Lifestream sympathizers, considering how little mako it draws."

"If I recall correctly," Lazard says thoughtfully, "Professor Hojo conducted quite a few experiments and even constructed a lab during his time in Nibelheim. Many of those experiments involved mako and the reactor; perhaps he could provide some insight as to why the Nibel reactor might have been specifically targeted. Why isn’t Professor Hojo here, by the way?”

“Hojo opted not to attend this meeting in favor of monitoring the reactions of the newest batch of Thirds to their mako injections,” Tseng says.

“So now what? We’re back to square one with this crazy powerful mako-enhanced sword maniac?” Heidegger says. “How much funding are SOLDIER and the Turks getting for this, exactly? Here you are, wasting all this time and money, when the infantry—”

“I don’t think it’s the infantry that we should be concerned with funding at the moment,” Reeve interjects mildly, but as usual, no one pays him any attention as the board meeting dissolves into a petty squabble over department funding.

Tseng shuts his eyes against a growing headache and wishes, not for the first time, that Veld hadn’t handed over the management of the Turks to him before leaving to deal with an important assignment of his own. This along with his responsibility for this troublesome case is going to make the next few days a struggle; directing the Turks to begin a search for a trail anew is no simple task alone, much less when combined with dealing with the political backlash of his failure and the destruction of an entire reactor.

The bickering doesn’t stop until the President’s secretary buzzes in, saying, “Sir, the three SOLDIER Firsts you requested are here to see you.”

When said Firsts step into the office, looking for all the world as if they’re marching into enemy territory with Genesis and Angeal flanking Sephiroth’s left and right, respectively, the room falls silent. Reeve begins shuffling his papers in an attempt to look occupied, and even Scarlet looks suitably cowed. Heidegger clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Whoever it is that’s going to explain,” he says, “it’s not going to be me.”

-

“So you really do like bonfires,” Cloud says, folding his newspaper shut so that the headline reads only _NIBEL REACT._ He glances over at the corner of the alleyway.

There’s a long silence, then the barest of sighs before Vincent melts out of the shadows, more fluid than any man in a blood-red cloak has a right to be. “What would you have done if Chaos had not received your message?”

Cloud hums. “Blown it up myself, probably.”

"Risky," Vincent says, but doesn't comment any more.

“Hey,” Cloud says, and though Vincent doesn’t outwardly react, the tilt of his head indicates that he is listening intently. “Thanks. You really helped.”

After all, any amount of confusion they can inspire in ShinRa is worth it, be it confusion over who was responsible for the explosion or over how many people they may or may not be working with. Also because _that place_ in particular is much better off in ashes than in any other state.

“ … No need for thanks,” Vincent says finally. “It was cathartic.”

A smile tugs at Cloud’s mouth. Typical Vincent. It’s almost reassuring.

“Your plans?” Vincent asks. “You said you had an alternative to bombing the reactors.”

Cloud nods. “Reeve—did Chaos tell you about Reeve? Well, he’s—”

“The Head of Urban Development,” Vincent says, a tiny furrow in his brow. “A… robotic cat?”

Cloud tries not to wheeze. “That’s Cait Sith. But you’re… technically not wrong, I guess. But yeah, he’s the one who designed the latest model of mako reactors. So…”

Vincent nods, easily coming to the correct conclusion himself. “It is quite helpful to have been friends with him, then.”

And indeed, future-Reeve’s old reactor schematics will be very helpful for achieving illegal property damage in a decidedly non-terroristic manner. This way, no bystanders will have to die. If only they’d known, back then… but there’s no use dwelling in the past. Besides, deactivating reactors has its own difficulties that come with it; nothing ever comes this easy. Cloud knows this well.

“It’s a hidden failsafe,” he warns. “It’s complicated and takes a long time. Makes it easy to get caught by the guard detail. And if we mess up, the reactor could do worse than blow.”

“But you remember it?” At Cloud’s answering nod, Vincent says, “Then it’s our best chance. We will simply have to move accurately and efficiently.”

Cloud breathes in, deep and slow. “It’s our best chance,” he repeats quietly, drawing confidence from Vincent’s support. He’s never quite been the best at strategizing—he much prefers solving his problems with a simple, straightforward fight to the death—but the stakes are so high this time. Cloud’s spent the past few months turning it over and over in his mind, and even now he’s still bracing himself for the worst. After all, in his experience, plans only exist to go wrong.

But ShinRa conducts reactor maintenance rarely, if ever; if he and Vincent disable them quietly, it will take quite a while before ShinRa even realizes that a reactor is unable to produce any more new mako. The remaining mako, already processed and stored within, is more than enough to power each town for about two to three more years if used conservatively, just as Edge had rebuilt using the remnants left in the Midgar reactors after they’d been shut down. This leaves plenty of time to slowly integrate an energy alternative without excessively troubling the populace as well as not taxing the Planet any further—that is, as long as ShinRa agrees.

And ShinRa will agree when they present their ultimatum, Cloud hopes fervently. They have to. They’d truly have no choice otherwise, other than to build a whole new set of reactors around the Planet to replace those that are deactivated.

(But he also knows how unreasonable they can be. How destructive. And he can’t help but doubt.)

“It’s a good plan,” Vincent reaffirms, watching Cloud quietly. “Simple, but within its simplicity lies its potential for success. The groundwork has been laid with the Nibel reactor. Now we simply need to utilize it.”

Cloud nods. He’d asked Vincent to be flashy in Nibelheim on purpose—their groundwork. Now ShinRa will be on alert for similarly attention-grabbing events. All the better for the stealthy things to go unnoticed.

And they will have to be stealthy; the success of this method lies in its subtlety. In the best-case scenario, they’d hit all the reactors before ShinRa realizes. Cloud doubts it would happen, but even disabling as many as possible before security tightens will make things significantly easier on them. Even better, if he can manage to prevent himself from being seen at all, then ShinRa will never have proof that the swordsman they’re after is behind this, and Aerith will be at much less risk. Vincent, too, has his own reasons to be wary of catching ShinRa’s attention himself.

Vincent tilts his head, a silent question.

“I learned from the best,” Cloud says simply. “Now, you wanna get out of here?”

Cloud’s known other-Vincent long enough to recognize relief on this Vincent’s face. “Yes. It’s best we move swiftly.”

“Yeah,” Cloud says, and the corner of his mouth kicks up into a smirk. “Costa del Sol weather _definitely_ doesn’t suit you.”

Even as Vincent bristles in the bright beachside sun, disgruntled, there’s something a little more relaxed in his posture now, and Cloud finds himself relaxing infinitesimally in return.

He made it out of ShinRa; he has a friend by his side again. These next few months will be the busiest he’s had since he fell back in time, but maybe, just maybe, things are starting to look up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1k kudos y'all are insane and ily

It takes ShinRa a good month before they register the irregularities in produced mako levels.

At first, the days and nights are spent in silence, only interspersed with brief bouts of strategizing. Vincent watches Cloud closely that first week, hints of equal confusion and intrigue in his expression, especially when Cloud shifts easily to accommodate Vincent each night when they set up a sparse camp to rest, when he seems to know exactly how Vincent likes his coffee, when he asks no probing questions and makes no offhand comments.

"We were… close in this future of yours," Vincent says finally one night when they’ve settled down. "Weren't we." For all that it’s phrased like a statement, there's a questioning tilt to his head, and he sounds vaguely wondering.

Cloud looks up and meets Vincent's eyes, gleaming an eerie red in the darkness. They'd foregone a fire—neither of them need the warmth or the light to see by, so it's safer not to leave a smoke trail at all. "We were all close. AVALANCHE, that is." He tilts his head in return. "What, Chaos didn't tell you this?"

Vincent hesitates. "Chaos... He spoke of AVALANCHE, yes. Enough so I would know them all by name and appearance. For one who concerns himself little with mortals, it is… telling. But I hadn't—I didn't…"

"AVALANCHE was… family. For me. And for you." Cloud says quietly, throat tight. He knows very well how Vincent feels right now, disbelief and wonder all rolled into one that there would ever be a group of such warm and friendly people that cared so much for him. They'd all been long gone by the time he'd been sent back in time, but no amount of mourning them will ever be quite enough, Cloud feels.

"You lost them," Vincent says, and Cloud knows he means more than just through the nature of time travel. "I… My condolences. To lose all you hold dear… I suppose if given the chance, I too would try to regain what I had lost."

Vincent would know how it feels to lose everything, Cloud thinks, and it's because of that he finds himself saying, "I didn't come back to 'regain' them. The AVALANCHE I knew, _my_ AVALANCHE—they're gone, and I've accepted that. The ones here and now… they'll never be the same." His voice wavers at the admission. It's something he's never verbalized even to himself. But he continues determinedly, "But that doesn't mean they aren't important to me anyways."

(That's why he can't fail, no matter what.)

" … I see," Vincent says solemnly. "You are a far braver man than Chaos gave you credit for."

Cloud huffs good-naturedly. He knows it was unintentional, but Vincent's comment has him feeling considerably cheered. "It's Chaos. I'm surprised he didn't feed you some bullshit story about how I pissed my pants fighting Sephiroth or something."

Vincent blinks at him, nonplussed.

"Hey," Cloud says, "thanks. It goes for you too, you know? You're different, but you're still… I mean, I'd probably be having a much harder time if I didn't have a friend with me."

Vincent is silent for a long time, and Cloud waits patiently. Finally, he says, "No thanks needed. But you are welcome regardless." He rises soundlessly, tucking his cloak close around himself. "Go rest. I will take first watch."

“You always take first watch,” Cloud points out, also scrambling to his feet. Vincent takes all the watches, actually; he doesn’t sleep, same as _before._ Cloud used to accompany Vincent on his nightly vigils, simply to offer a silent presence to keep the darker thoughts at bay, and they may not be as close anymore, but—

Vincent cocks a questioning brow, but doesn’t protest when Cloud settles down beside him in his chosen spot. It’s comforting, this memory of an old routine, and he doesn’t know when he dozes off, but he wakes to a subtle shifting as Vincent tucks his cloak around him.

“Go back to sleep,” Vincent tells him when he stirs, lifting his head from where it’s pressed against the man’s side, and he does.

After that one night, the silence grows much more comfortable. Their teamwork also benefits, and a month is more than enough time for them to hit Gongaga, Corel, and Fort Condor—all the reactors on the Western Continent.

The panic when ShinRa realizes that some of their reactors can no longer produce any more mako must be quickly muffled within the upper brass, because none of the locals in any of the towns Cloud and Vincent pass through seem particularly bothered. However, nothing keeps the army grunts from whispering among themselves as ShinRa ups the security, and Vincent and Cloud both are good eavesdroppers—Vincent by nature of his former occupation, and Cloud had learned from Vincent himself. Cloud still can’t quite master the way Vincent manages to get people’s eyes to slide straight past him, no matter how eye-catching his red cloak and brassy shoes are, but he’s at least able to stand unobtrusively in a corner while dressed in dull colors and get his information that way.

They’d both been very careful to leave no traces as to their identities or motives at the sites they’d hit, which, considering who Vincent used to be, is more than enough to keep ShinRa clueless despite their increasingly frantic investigations. But there is only one last working reactor outside of Midgar—not much guesswork needed to identify it as their next target.

The last and the most difficult: Junon.

-

“Vincent,” Cloud mutters under his breath, tugging the brim of his nondescript gray cap lower as they cross paths in the streets of Junon. Nonchalantly, they duck into an empty alleyway. “Sephiroth’s here.”

There’s a barely perceptible hitch in Vincent’s smooth stride. Despite stubbornly sticking to his usual red tattered cloak, no one spares him a glance. “Ah,” he says, the Vincent equivalent of _well shit_.

“My reaction too.”

“I suppose there was no helping it.” Vincent frowns, a tiny crease in his brow. They knew that ShinRa would be tightening security by quite a bit to guard their last working reactors; they'd simply hoped that the company would consider it more strategically sound to keep Sephiroth in Midgar, where reactors zero through eight are all located. But now that Sephiroth is here, it’s very likely that they may be forced to be more overt than they’d like to get past him.

“According to news reports,” Cloud says, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against his crossed arms, “Sephiroth’s here long-term to monitor the military security of ShinRa’s secondary headquarters. But as far as I can tell, they told him to park his ass here until we eventually dropped by. They must be getting desperate.”

Vincent glances down—further down that he would have had to _before,_ Cloud thinks, rather miffed—and raises a brow.

Cloud sighs wearily in response to his unasked question. “He’ll be guarding the only entrance. We’ll have to figure something else out.”

Usually, Vincent sneaks in first and loops the video cameras from the security room before Cloud does his own much less skilled sneaking past the guard detail. He’s got a Seal materia equipped just in case for the occasional Sleep if he needs it, but it’s meant to be used sparingly; it’s normal for a guard or two to doze off while posted, but too many all at once is too suspicious. Thankfully, there are no guards with permanent posts inside the reactor; the high mako levels are too dangerous for regular humans to be exposed to for long amounts of time without the proper protection. Each patrol only does a cursory check at the beginning of their shift, leaving Cloud and Vincent with just enough time between patrols to engage in the lengthy and complex process of deactivating the reactor.

Though the empty glass tunnels leading into the underwater reactor aren’t exactly conducive for stealth, they’d decided the risk of putting everyone to sleep at once had been worth it, which is why they’d saved this particular reactor for last. But now, Cloud has no doubt that Sephiroth will be much harder—if not impossible—to take out at all, much less with something as simple as status effects.

“Perhaps it would be better if I went alone this time,” Vincent says, watching Cloud pace back and forth.

Cloud shakes his head. Vincent is far sneakier than Cloud is and ever will be, for all the tricks he’d learned from the other Vincent and the Turks, _before,_ but even he isn’t skilled enough to get past Sephiroth in a wide, completely open glass tunnel. “There’s no cover. It’s _Sephiroth—_ he’ll notice someone passing by, even if it’s you.”

Furthermore, even if Vincent could miraculously sneak past Sephiroth, enacting the failsafe with two people is already barely within four hours, the length of a single guard shift. A single person will take twice as long, and the nature of its process won’t allow Vincent to stop midway and hide when the next patrol checks the reactor. Once they see him, they’d surely raise the alarm and draw Sephiroth in.

“Should we simply skip this reactor and head for Midgar first?”

“Genesis and Angeal and the whole SOLDIER army are in Midgar,” Cloud points out. He hums thoughtfully. “Hey, how do you feel about dressing up as ShinRa MPs?”

Vincent blinks impassively down at Cloud. “I was unaware that ShinRa carried military police uniforms in your size, Cloud.”

“ … Thanks, Vincent. So much.”

-

Much to Cloud’s chagrin, Vincent is right. The smallest uniform they find in the locker rooms by the airport is made for someone who stands about three inches taller than Cloud’s younger form currently does, which is ridiculous because he had literally been a trooper at this age, _before._ But only older, more experienced troops are based outside of Midgar, he assumes, and he doesn’t want to risk walking down the entire way with a gaping wound in his side or his chest or wherever the next scar will reopen, so he’s left with this situation instead.

“Roll up your sleeves. They’re sliding down,” Vincent murmurs as they stride down the airway overlooking the Mako Cannon.

Cloud sighs, tucking the rifle into the crook of his arm and tugging uncomfortably at the rolled-up sleeve of his new uniform. He quickly drops his hand as the first platoon of guards comes into sight, fighting the urge to pull the helmet lower to ensure that all of his distinctive hair, tucked as neatly as possible into a tight bun, is hidden. Vincent, he knows, is probably fighting a similar urge to duck his chin into the pale blue neckerchief replacing his usual high collar.

Fortunately, they aren’t given a passing glance, as there are several other blue-clad troopers approaching the elevator leading to the reactor. Some of them give each other passing nods as they crowd inside; others chatter and crack jokes.

The next few paths go by the same way, with the new soldiers quickly relieving the current ones on duty, until they reach the last set of guards before the lift down. They leave eagerly enough, tired of standing impassively before the gateway, but their replacements are less easy to placate.

“No one’s supposed to be stationed down there,” the taller one says, pursing his lips into a frown. “Putting anyone past Sephiroth’s a waste of resources, so they say. In my opinion, all of us here’re a waste of resources when they sent gods-damned _Sephiroth_ to deal with the problem.”

His partner snorts. “But o’ course, yer opinion ain’t worth shit to them.”

“Oh,” Cloud says, mind working frantically. “Uh, they… said they wanted another set. Just before Sephiroth.”

“Weird,” the first guard says. “S’not a usual post.”

Cloud shrugs and tries to channel the very specific done-with-the-higher-ups’-shit apathy he remembers from his own trooper days. “Buncha paranoid bastards.”

Luckily, he must get it right, because the guard snorts and says, “Hah! You’ve got that right. It’s just a grand ol’ time, innit?” before waving them on.

As the metal lift begins its jolting journey downward, Vincent says, “Sephiroth won’t buy the same excuse.”

“No, he won’t,” Cloud agrees grimly. “Good thing is, he can’t fight all-out without risking damage to the glass tunnel, which is kind of a big deal when you’re on the bottom of the ocean. Even better, even if we won’t be let inside the reactor, now we know no one else is there, either.”

“You are truly proposing what I believe you are proposing?”

“Yes. I am. You did bring explosives, right?”

“Of course, but—you are certain? Will Aerith be safe?”

“Tseng’s kept her safe so far, and we’ll be heading back to Midgar after this anyways.” They have no way of contacting Aerith, not without calling her bugged PHS, but Cloud’s sure that if something happens to her, the Planet won’t let it pass unknown. Not without giving Cloud a migraine or two, at least. He fiddles with the materia hanging around his neck as it begins to pulse warmly. “I should have guessed it would come to this, anyways. No plan ever survives first contact with Sephiroth.”

-

Sephiroth rubs his temples as he flips over another page of paperwork. The glow of the mako-powered lamp reflects against the glass of the tunnel, sending glittering blue-green light scattering across the floor, and he supposes it might be considered beautiful, but all he think of is how utterly ridiculous the setup of the collapsible plastic table and the folding chair must look to anyone who enters. It’s made even worse by how every twelve hours they send a quavering trooper down to deliver a sparse meal, and when he wants to use the restroom, he has to go through the indignity of calling the operator so they can send down a temporary replacement.

(Military police, he reminds himself, not trooper. Now that ShinRa has started recalling its troops from Wutai, the infantry are no longer considered troopers.)

He is acutely aware that these incidents are a dangerous security breach; anyone who can disable reactors in such an efficient and nonlethal manner must be intimately familiar with their layout. It does not, however, make him any more charitable towards the company’s frantic paranoia. Yes, he is perfectly capable of going for a week without sleep without it negatively affecting his physical performance. No, that does not mean it does not negatively affect his emotional regulation.

He’s also reached the rather distressing conclusion that he could be looking for Cloud himself instead of rotting away in this dark, isolated corridor.

Sephiroth sighs. He wants coffee.

-

“It is truly convenient, being able to switch to your older form like this,” Vincent says, crouching beside Cloud. He’d had to strip before transforming to keep his stolen uniform, so they’ve found a nice alcove stow Cloud’s black ensemble as he changes back into the blue fatigues.

“Yes, the gaping hole above my hip is very convenient,” Cloud snarks, before hissing in pain as Vincent pulls the bandages on his side tight. “Ow fuck Vincent _why?”_

“Safety,” Vincent answers blandly. “It will not stop bleeding until you return to your… ‘fun-sized’ form, correct?”

Cloud groans. Of course the moment Vincent decides to grow a sense of humor, it’s at the expense of Cloud’s height. “I am literally just under average height.”

The corner of Vincent’s mouth tilts upwards. “Of course. Now put your shirt back on—why look, it appears to actually fit now.”

“Aw, fuck off.”

-

Sephiroth glances up as quiet footsteps echo from around the curve of the tunnel and frowns when two military police with blue scarves appear, one tall, one short, both rather pale and thin. No one less than a SOLDIER Second should be here to replace him, much less mere foot soldiers. Besides, he hadn’t called; there shouldn’t be anyone here.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “You do not have the proper clearance to be on this level.”

The short one hesitates, then snaps to attention. The taller of the two looks down at him, then copies. Sephiroth cannot read their expressions, covered by helmets as they are, and finds himself irked by the lack of insight. Most people are expressive enough for just the view of their mouth to be sufficient, but these two are clearly not.

The silence stretches. Sephiroth sighs. “At ease. If you turn around and leave now, I will not report you to your CO.”

“No, wait,” the smaller one says as he falls into parade rest. “We have orders to, uh—to guard the inside of the reactor.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrow in response. He reaches for Masamune.

The MP—who is decidedly not an MP—sighs and drops his rather pathetic pretense completely. “Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.”

His companion shoots him another glance, then blurs into movement. When Sephiroth moves to intercept, he crashes blade-to-blade with an oddly-shaped broadsword, hollow in the center and tapered to a rounded tip. Sephiroth resists the urge to curse as he hears the entrance to the reactor clang shut, the taller one long gone.

Sephiroth sends a few testing swipes towards the… terrorist? Clearly he and his friend are the ones deactivating reactors, but Sephiroth hesitates to call them such when they have not engaged in any acts of unlawful violence or intimidation; there hasn’t been a single casualty as a result of their actions. If not for the fact that their actions might be considered property destruction, Sephiroth would have dared to say that activist or protester would be more accurate—

The man bats Masamune away easily, and Sephiroth leaps back to disengage. Instead of following, his opponent falls into a relaxed but clearly defensive stance. Their objectives have now reversed, with Sephiroth trying to reach the reactor and the man unwilling to allow him to pass.

Sephiroth darts forward again, but remains wary of using excessive force while inside what equates to a glass tube under immense pressure. He soon learns that holding back, however, could be a fatal mistake.

An upward swing of the broadsword, almost too fast for Sephiroth to follow, a lightning-quick jab he has to twist to avoid, then a painful swat against his chest with the flat of the blade sends him skittering back with bruised ribs. The man settles back in front of the reactor entrance.

Sephiroth frowns. “You could have severely injured me.” It has been a very, very long time since a single man—or even a dozen men—has come close to even scratching him. The thrill of meeting an equal, of having a good fight, heats his blood. A wild smile fights to creep its way across his face.

The glowing red headlights of the uniform’s helmet meet Sephiroth’s eyes evenly. “ … Guess so.”

“Yet you chose not to. Why?”

A shrug. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Sephiroth picks a different topic. “Your blade—how did it appear? It was not there when we first spoke.”

Gloved fingers caress the handle. “It comes when I call.”

“It… seems familiar. _You_ seem familiar,” Sephiroth says. And the man does—his voice, his movements, his sword… they all make the back of his mind tingle, as if he is forgetting something important. He almost reminds Sephiroth of…

But no. That’s impossible. Why would… Why—

The fingers pause. “Do I?” he asks, almost too casually.

“ … Yes,” Sephiroth decides, “you do.”

With that, he launches himself forward, a new goal in mind. Thoughts of simply getting past the reactor entrance, of doing what his duty necessitates, are buried under his rising excitement. He can’t defeat the man, not with the physical constraints their impromptu battlefield places on him, but he _can_ aim to remove his helmet. And Sephiroth does get his chance, after several evenly-met clashes—the man is fast, faster than Sephiroth, even, and only yields ever so slightly beneath Sephiroth’s immense strength, but he slightly favors his left side, quick to deflect any strikes in that direction. As the fight drags on, he begins to falter almost imperceptibly when too much weight is placed on his left leg.

Their next clash sends the man flying back. He recovers quickly and lands in a crouch, only to wince and clutch at his side. When his hand draws back, Sephiroth catches a glimpse of something slick and red staining his hand. Within an instant, Sephiroth crosses the distance between them and knocks him onto his back, Masamune’s blade—still clean—resting at the junction between his jaw and neck. A quick glance at the blood blooming on the man’s uniform confirms his suspicions.

“You came willingly into a fight with me wounded?” Sephiroth asks, nearly incredulous. For any warrior, even Genesis or Angeal, that would spell suicide.

The man huffs, letting his head fall back. “Still worked, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Sephiroth asks, pressing Masamune further into his neck—deep enough to create a thin line of red, hard enough for a few beads to well up and slip down the dips in the man’s throat—as he reaches for the edge of the helmet with his other hand. “Your identity is about to be revealed.”

Just as Sephiroth lifts it upward, several gunshots ring out, forcing him to leap backward with the helmet still in his grasp. For a moment, red swirls across his vision, before sweeping over to the man still lying prone on the floor. It solidifies into a red-cloaked man with long dark hair swept back with a bandanna, crouched protectively and hiding his companion from view.

“Vin—”

“Quiet.” The newcomer, presumably the one who’d entered the reactor earlier, regards Sephiroth with glittering, ruby-red eyes. “The reactor will blow in less than a minute. I advise you escape before this tunnel floods.”

“Wait,” Sephiroth says, something in him screaming against leaving things as is. He addresses the hidden man. “Your identity—I believe I’ve earned it. Haven’t I?”

The dark-haired man reaches for the gun holstered at his side.

“Vincent. Don’t.” A hand clutches at the edge of the red cape. The man—Vincent—makes a disparaging noise in the back of his throat, but abandons the gun in favor of helping his companion up, still careful to keep him out of sight.

But not careful enough. Sephiroth catches a brief glimpse of feathery blond hair and his breath stutters.

 _“Wait—”_ Sephiroth begins, but an explosion sends them all stumbling as the floor quakes violently. Thick cracks spiderweb through the glass around them.

“We have to leave,” Vincent says. The smaller man makes a surprised noise as he’s heaved into Vincent’s arms, and then they are off in a blur of red cape and blue uniform and gold hair.

Sephiroth growls and tears after them.

-

The guards mill around in a panic as each explosion sends another quake through the floor. Some of them shriek and jerk back as Vincent barrels past. Others barely even notice.

“Vincent,” Cloud says, tugging urgently on his collar. “Sephiroth is following—”

“Of course he’s following,” Vincent says grimly. “We are currently the most wanted criminals on the Planet.”

Cloud shakes his head, the spikes of his hair brushing against Vincent’s cheek. “Maybe if I explain—”

“You bled through your bandages and your clothing. Why have you not reverted back?”

Cloud shakes his head harder. “Sephiroth—”

A black blur slams into them, sending Cloud sprawling as Vincent flips through the air and lands smoothly, Death Penalty drawn and pointed at a very angry SOLDIER First. Cloud wheezes in pain as his rough impact against the metal floor jostles his still-bleeding injury and forces the air from his lungs. Sephiroth, Masamune drawn and leveled in turn, steps between him and Vincent.

“Sir!” A guard with a red-orange neckerchief, clearly a squad leader, salutes Sephiroth sharply. “Are these the culprits? Would you like us to apprehend them?”

“No,” Sephiroth snaps. “Dismissed, Sergeant.”

“Sir?” The man balks, clearly nonplussed, but upon seeing the darkening rage on the General’s face, hastily corrects himself. “Yes, sir!”

The rest of the guards clear out quickly. Cloud can empathize; if he’d been unenhanced, he would’ve been out of there like his ass was lit on fire, too. In all these years, he’s never seen Sephiroth _furious._ Vengeful, yes, as well as unhinged, displeased, even smug—Cloud has also been privy to a large variation of emotions from when Sephiroth was a child: frustration, happiness, irritation, wonder, confusion, protectiveness… but never this cold, burning anger.

(It helps, a little, with differentiating between the Sephiroth of _then_ and the Sephiroth of now. More, at least, than when Sephiroth had been fighting him with a calculating intrigue in his eyes, for all that his testing swipes had been easily batted away.)

“What are you doing with Cloud?” Sephiroth demands, Masamune unwavering.

Vincent responds by cocking his gun.

Cloud pushes himself to his feet and says loudly, “Okay, stop, let’s all calm down for a moment.”

Both their gazes jerk to him, and Sephiroth says, “Cloud, your wound—” just as Vincent says, “Cloud, you should not—”

“Fuck my wound,” Cloud says. “It can wait until _after_ my friends aren’t about to kill each other.”

When both men hesitate, he folds his arms and glares disapprovingly in the particular way that always made Sephiroth fold as a child.

Vincent sighs and lowers his weapon. Sephiroth clenches his jaw mulishly, but does the same.

“There,” Cloud says. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Sit down, Cloud,” Sephiroth says in response. “Please.”

Cloud blinks in surprise at hearing Sephiroth say _please_ of all things, and before he can decide whether he wants to comply or not, his knees buckle traitorously. He lands on his ass with an _oof_ , wincing as the pain in his side flares from red to white-hot in response. Both Sephiroth and Vincent are on either side of him in an instant.

“Your face is too pale,” Vincent observes.

Sephiroth frowns. “Do you have no potions? Healing materia? You broke into a heavily guarded ShinRa facility with no curatives?”

“Those won’t work on this,” Cloud says. “Don’t worry. As far as things go, this one’s not too bad…”

“Not too bad?” Sephiroth repeats dubiously, staring at the rapidly growing spread of red against Cloud’s formerly blue infantry uniform.

“Don’t strain yourself more than necessary. Aerith would be most displeased if I ever let you bleed out,” Vincent says.

“Yeah, but…” Cloud trails off and glances between the two hovering men.

Vincent gives him a _look._ “The longer you stay like this, the worse it gets.”

“Fine,” Cloud says, too tired to try to engage in a mental debate over the pros and cons of telling Sephiroth _things._ “Just… don’t freak, okay?” he says to the silver-haired man, then shuts his eyes and lets himself mentally relax the way his body has been begging him to since halfway through their fight. Gradually, all the warmth ebbs from his body, leaving him cold and shivering.

“Why is he flickering?” he hears Sephiroth ask, and he’d say he almost sounds alarmed if he didn’t know any better.

“He said to ‘not freak’,” Vincent says in lieu of answering.

When Cloud cracks his eyes open again, he can feel that the uniform drapes a tad more baggily around his limbs. “Ow,” he says.

“Cloud?” Sephiroth says, and this time Cloud has to admit that he does sound alarmed. “You are Cloud, right?”

“Yeah,” Cloud says, struggling to sit up. Another small, pained noise escapes his throat. “Remind me to never do that again.”

“Noted,” Vincent says dryly, “but we both know you won’t listen.”

Cloud huffs, but accepts the support of Vincent’s hand against his back.

“Cloud,” Sephiroth says. “Do you happen to know a girl who shares your name? She escaped from ShinRa Headquarters a few months ago and looks exactly like you but for… the eyes…” He trails off in realization as Cloud tugs his long hair out of its now-sorry bun and meets his eyes, and oh, he’s still wearing his colored contacts, isn’t he—?

“Ah,” Cloud says. “That… wasn’t a girl.”

“Ah,” Sephiroth says too, sounding a tad distant.

Vincent gets that look on his face that means he’s rolling his eyes internally, but all he does is move on to a more pressing topic. “Cloud, there remains the issue of the video cameras. We were able to cover you during your change, but they have clear footage of both of us.”

Cloud groans and flops back onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I _knew_ it. No plan ever survives first contact with Sephiroth.”

Said man looks mildly affronted, but offers anyways, “I may… have an idea.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Cloud. Come back to ShinRa with me.”

For a moment, all Cloud can do is gape stupidly at Sephiroth, and the man continues, “I understand you are concerned about your freedom to act to achieve your own goals. But you know as well as I do that now ShinRa is aware of who is behind these reactor failures, they will not allow such a powerful opponent to live. But ShinRa has also taken interest in your strength, and with my backing, this means there is great room for a negotiation of terms if you choose to cooperate. Your identity may have been revealed, but you will suffer no harm from ShinRa’s hands, Cloud, be it Hojo or the Turks. I will make sure of it.”

Vincent steps in before Cloud can gather his thoughts. “Cloud has no reason to agree when we are all aware that any opposition ShinRa sends will be no threat, if they are even capable of tracking us. Unless you plan to be the one to bring us in yourself against his will?”

Sephiroth bristles. “Surely even you see the folly in this logic. Such pursuit would be inconveniencing at best, and deadly at worst. ShinRa has armies at its disposal—it would be no more than a war of attrition.”

“Yet you do not deny that you would be included in those armies,” Vincent notes. “Why should Cloud abandon all he’s worked for to follow you into the lion’s den? Why is it not you instead who offers to abandon your own post to accompany him? At this point even you must be aware of the depth of ShinRa’s corruption. That was the entire purpose of Cloud’s visit to your friend Genesis, wasn’t it?”

Sephiroth blinks, looking blankly stunned at the idea of deserting ShinRa, and Cloud finally pulls himself together enough to say, “Vincent.”

When Vincent turns to look at him, Cloud shakes his head. They can’t afford to push Sephiroth like this, not when things are so uncertain with JENOVA. All Sephiroth knows is ShinRa; his family is there.

(More than anything else, Cloud had visited Genesis so Sephiroth would still have his family.)

“You’re right,” Cloud says to Sephiroth. “ShinRa won’t care how many people they send to their death to catch someone causing as much trouble as we have. Even—even the best wouldn’t be able to hold out forever. And,” he adds pointedly at Vincent, “we wouldn’t be able to hide and deactivate reactors at the same time. Especially since they’re all in Midgar.”

Vincent’s chin dips as he concedes without further protest, but Cloud can tell that he’ll be getting disapproving looks the moment Sephiroth is out of sight.

“All right, Sephiroth,” Cloud says, calm and level for all the way the idea of joining ShinRa again makes his stomach churn. “I’ll accept your offer.”

Sephiroth nods. “Very well,” he says, all smooth silk again. “Put your helmet back on and I will escort you to the locker rooms. If I am to be bringing the black-clad swordsman back to ShinRa, you must look the part.”

-

Vincent radiates displeasure as Cloud tightens the straps of his sword harness, revelling in its familiarity.

“Don’t be like that, Vincent,” Cloud says. “At least my clothes didn’t disappear. And they fit now.”

“Marginally,” Vincent corrects. With a flick of his wrist, he casts Fire on the colored contacts and mess of long golden strands dumped in the trash can, reducing them to crumbling ash. Both of them wrinkle their noses at the bitter smell of scorched hair and burnt plastic.

Cloud shrugs, toying with the single sleeve that hangs halfway down to his fingers. “A size or two too big isn’t a big deal. I’ll get rid of the sleeve if it gets in the way.”

“You know that is not my main concern. Have you considered _why_ he even makes this offer?”

Cloud sighs and kneels, pulling on his boots. He carefully tucks the slightly-too-long cuffs of his pants in before lacing them up. “I trust Sephiroth.” And despite himself, he finds that he truly does. Even if his motives are uncertain, Cloud firmly believes that Sephiroth means no harm.

“You trust the five-year-old Sephiroth you once knew,” Vincent says. “He’s changed.”

“Well yeah, but… I’d like to think he hasn’t changed that much—yet, I know you’re gonna say,” Cloud says, “but that’s why we need to figure out what kind of influence JENOVA still has on him. As much as I hate it, being in ShinRa will help a lot.”

“Does he truly have enough sway to keep you out of Hojo’s hands?” Vincent asks.

“Do you really have such little faith in me?” Cloud asks wryly back.

Vincent’s eyes flash. “Hojo is dangerous, Cloud. You should know this better than anyone.”

“We’ve been given the chance to negotiate. It’s what we wanted anyways, isn’t it? We need all the leverage we can get, and ShinRa knows Hojo has never been able to make another Sephiroth. I can’t pass this up, no matter the danger.” Cloud stands and meets Vincent’s eyes. “Thanks for worrying. But I have to do this.”

Vincent says nothing, but the turn of his mouth and the set of his shoulders are a concession in themselves.

Cloud smiles and slings Tsurugi’s comforting weight onto his back, then runs a hand through his newly-short hair. “So, how do I look?”

-

“A bit small,” Sephiroth decides, eyeing Cloud’s rather nostalgic ensemble as he steps out of the locker room, hair short and spiked and eyes glowing blue once more, “but passable. Dressed like this, you do look much older than you did when the Turks last saw you. Where did… Vincent go?” He barely keeps his mouth from twisting in distaste at the older man’s name.

Cloud raises a brow. Apparently Sephiroth has not hidden his distaste as well as he thought. “ShinRa’s getting a one-man deal.”

“Hm,” Sephiroth says. It’s just as well; he has no interest in keeping this Vincent close, anyways. “Very well. Regardless, the plan is not contingent on his presence. Let’s go.”

He leads Cloud towards the helicopter landing pad, where Sephiroth puts in a request to be transported back to Midgar ASAP, citing the reactor business dealt with. The infantrymen gape conspicuously from under their helmets at the man by his side, but Sephiroth stares straight ahead as they scurry about preparing their ride, only watching Cloud carefully out of the corner of his eye. It’s strange to be looking down at him now—from this angle, his bangs obscure part of his face, making it even harder to read his expression.

Finally, Sephiroth asks, “Are you a creature of the Lifestream?”

Cloud starts. “I—what?”

“It was Hojo’s central hypothesis concerning you. It certainly seems more plausible than angel,” Sephiroth says dryly. “And it would explain quite a bit. If mako reactors are truly harming the Planet by draining the Lifestream like so many groups claim, then naturally, your goal would be to deactivate them.”

“I thought ShinRa didn’t believe in the Lifestream. Called it religious drivel.”

“Of course they don’t believe,” Sephiroth says. “It contradicts their business practices, after all. I never gave it much credit either, but… I suppose the claims must have some base, if so many people do believe. Your actions seem to corroborate them, at least, and who better to trust on these matters than someone intimately connected to the Lifestream?”

“I’m just human,” Cloud denies, a strange inflection coloring his voice. He adds, “But I may have been to the Lifestream… a couple times. You’re right about the reactors.”

“So it is true. The Lifestream is where souls go after death.”

Cloud hums an affirmative. “All souls become one with the Planet’s energy—the Lifestream—which is pulled through mako reactors and refined. If ShinRa drains too much, the Planet won’t be able to protect itself in times of crisis, and eventually it won’t be able to sustain any life at all. They think the Promised Land is a land of unlimited mako, but it isn’t. They can’t go there—it’s for the dead.”

“You miss my point,” Sephiroth says. “Cloud, you were dead.”

“In a way, I guess. My case is a bit more complicated—” Cloud blinks down at Sephiroth’s hands, which are white-knuckled. “Sephiroth…?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“Tell you? What?”

“That you were alive again. What you were doing. Where you were. Anything,” Sephiroth says, much too desperately. “You were in ShinRa Headquarters for months, and you never told me anything. We crossed paths, and we were strangers. You spoke to Genesis, but not me. You were _dead.”_

Cloud stares at him, but before he can reply, an MP trots up to them and salutes sharply. “Sir! Your helicopter is ready for departure, sir!”

Sephiroth catches himself, and his lips press into a firm line as he carefully shutters his emotions away. “Thank you. Dismissed.”

The helmeted man salutes again and flees.

“Sephiroth—” Cloud says, but Sephiroth quickly turns and strides away. He hears Cloud scramble to follow after, but doesn’t look back, afraid of seeing Cloud’s reaction to his emotional outburst.

If there had been anything he’d learned from Hojo, it is that emotions are weakness. They cloud judgment and arrest the ability to act efficiently and decisively. When he’d been a child, Sephiroth had been the one under Cloud’s protection, but now, as an adult who’d vowed to keep Cloud safe…

 _Foolish,_ he berates himself. _Weak._

He’d wanted to prove to Cloud that he didn’t need protection anymore, that he could be the one to protect for a change. But what will Cloud think of him now?

-

The ride is deathly silent the entire way back to Midgar.

None of the infantrymen seem comfortable with sitting next to Sephiroth; they crowd the opposite end of the helicopter cabin, and the only seat left open is the one directly to his left. When Cloud tentatively settles down next to him, though, Sephiroth doesn’t spare him a single glance, instead electing to fix his gaze on the tinted window directly across from them.

In complete opposite, over half the infantrymen shoot him curious looks. The other half stare warily at Tsurugi, which Cloud sets against the edge of his seat, and their intent gazes make his skin prickle uncomfortably, his instincts hyperaware of any focused attention. Cloud resists the urge to sigh and simply closes his eyes in an attempt to doze off, fighting the nausea welling up from somewhere directly above his navel as the helicopter takes off, jolting back and forth in an erratic rhythm.

He already misses Vincent and his equally silent but much more reassuring treatment. They’d already been close, before. After spending the past month travelling together, their friendship had easily fallen back into their usual comfortable routine, almost as if nothing had changed.

Sephiroth, on the other hand, is utterly baffling, and the blankness of his face is perturbing. Other-Sephiroth had never been blank. Empty, yes, but all that emptiness had been painted over with the dark promise of revenge and destruction and pain. Even as Cloud had run a sword through him over and over and over again, he’d maintained the same infuriating smirk—the same one he’d worn when he’d been the one running Cloud through, as if everything was going all according to plan, a puppet show dancing on strings he'd held all the ends to, orchestrated purely for his own pleasure.

And if this new Sephiroth is a far cry from other-Sephiroth, he and child-Sephiroth are night and day. Cloud finds he sorely misses the simplicity of their interactions. But it’s unfair to expect the same things from the Sephiroth in the here and now, who has grown up to be an adult in his own right, who still wants to help Cloud for some strange reason.

Part of him is afraid that something more sinister lies in Sephiroth’s motives, something the man may not be aware of himself. JENOVA’s influence had not been subtle when Sephiroth had gripped Cloud’s wrist hard and declared _mine._ The thought that Cloud’s presence will only exacerbate the problem, that he might spark something akin to Reunion again, has also crossed Cloud’s mind. After all, he still fears he might harbor something of JENOVA within himself, too, his wings a sign of the ties that bind him to JENOVA and Sephiroth as their puppet—

Cloud flinches and burrows deeper into his seat.

-

Sephiroth can’t stop sneaking glances at Cloud.

He holds his self-control for a grand total of fifteen minutes before Cloud shuts his eyes and leans back into his seat with a soundless sigh, the image of careless relaxation but for the invisible line of tension in his shoulders, and Sephiroth abandons all pretenses to stare unabashedly, as does everyone else in the helicopter. The infantrymen are curious, of course, about the strange man Sephiroth brings with him, and Cloud’s shock of bright hair and glowing eyes leave no questions as to his identity. ShinRa’s search for him may have been classified as top secret, but information spreads quickly throughout the tower regardless.

But some of them also bear less than innocent interest in their gazes. Cloud, after all, is what would be considered physically attractive, and Sephiroth is long familiar with picking up on this kind of intent. Many used to look at Sephiroth in this way, too, back when he’d been young and slender (but not innocent, never innocent), before the war had exposed what he was capable of. Even when he’d shot to a height that towered over most men and his boyishly pretty features had hardened into something angled and piercing and—as he’s heard whispered many times over—almost inhumanly beautiful, that interest had only been buried by fear, never extinguished.

Cloud doesn’t have that fortune. Cloud is slim and small and unthreatening—deceptively so, of course, but in Sephiroth’s experience, people are content to use the simple label “pretty” and ignore any signs to the contrary. Coupled with his quiet, withdrawn nature, Sephiroth has doubts that Cloud will ever quite have fear on his side like Sephiroth does.

Sephiroth concludes that he will simply have to scare everyone else off for him.

Beside him, Cloud seems to be having some sort of bad dream, because there’s a slight crease in his brow, the equivalent of a troubled frown for him. Sephiroth remembers it well; as a child he’d always wished helplessly, desperately, that he could somehow do something to smooth it away. It’s discouraging to think that even now, fourteen years later, he is still as incapable of helping Cloud as he had been as a six-year-old child. He may have been able to provide a practical solution for Cloud’s predicament, but he remains useless in the face of the man’s emotional turmoil.

Cloud stirs, breath hitching in his throat. Sephiroth watches warily as blond hair bobs precariously close to his arm as the helicopter jerks roughly, but to his relief—or perhaps disappointment? Sephiroth is unfamiliar with this swooping sensation in his gut—Cloud straightens abruptly, eyes snapping open to scan his surroundings. He freezes when Sephiroth meets his gaze, hand instinctively twitching for a sword that isn’t there.

“Relax,” Sephiroth says. “We have an hour yet to reach Midgar. You may go back to sleep if you wish.”

“Wasn’t sleeping,” Cloud mutters. He looks pale.

When Sephiroth tilts his head in askance, Cloud shrugs and answers, “Motion sickness.”

“I was unaware that you suffered from motion sickness. I apologize; I do not have any medication.”

“S’fine,” Cloud says, but he still looks shaken. “It used to be a lot worse.”

“Hm,” Sephiroth says.

“Really,” Cloud says. “Helicopters are just… bad.”

Sephiroth looks down at Cloud, then at his own left arm, then at their captive audience, whose heads have been bobbing back and forth—rather idiotically, in Sephiroth’s opinion—as they track the rather stilted conversation. Still staring at Cloud. Recalling his recent conclusion, he firms his resolve, then very carefully moves his arm.

“… Sephiroth?” Cloud says blankly. He stares at the leather-clad arm looped around his shoulder, pressing him firmly against Sephiroth’s side. So does everyone else.

“Rest.” Sephiroth returns the MPs’ ridiculous gawking with a flat, imperious stare, and yet they continue casting probing glances at the man tucked under his arm. It makes the pit of Sephiroth’s stomach crawl angrily with the urge to remove Cloud from their view, and maybe their ability to view anything at all, but the waste of company resources would make ShinRa decidedly displeased with him, so he settles for tightening his grip, feeling rather proprietary.

“But—”

Cloud is still tense against him. Recalling how Cloud had often rubbed his back to calm him down, Sephiroth pats his arm in a clumsy attempt to get him to relax. “It will make you feel better. Rest. I will wake you when we reach our destination.”

Cloud hesitates some more, then his head falls back to rest against Sephiroth’s side with a near-soundless huff. “Fine,” he concedes.

Sephiroth’s lips curl up into a pleased smile.

-

Cloud wakes alone to a blessed lack of both motion and staring. If he could say the same for noise, then he’d be content, but there’s a raucous clamor of voices directly outside the helicopter—most likely where everyone else had vanished to, Cloud guesses. He slings his sword and harness carefully over his back, then reaches for the door. The moment he slides it open, though, the chatter cuts off.

A lanky dirty-blond man with glasses, flanked by Angeal and Genesis, stares at him over Sephiroth, who stands directly in front of the helicopter, arms crossed. If Cloud recalls correctly, this man is the Director of SOLDIER, but he’s forgotten his name.

“Who is this?” the Director asks stiffly.

Genesis somehow manages to sniff elegantly. “Do you not recognize the face of the man you’ve been running about chasing like a flock of blind marlboros for the past year?”

 _“This_ is him?”

Cloud frowns, unsure of what to make of his skeptical tone of voice.

“Yes,” Sephiroth says. “I’d prefer we discuss this elsewhere, Director.”

The Director glances at the staring infantrymen and SOLDIERs in the hangar, whispering amongst themselves, then nods. “Agreed. The President wants to see you, anyhow, and I’m assuming your… friend was involved in your latest mission, so you’d better bring him along. You come along too, Genesis, Angeal.”

With that, he and his entourage turn to leave, but Sephiroth just looks at Cloud, almost as if asking for his approval first. Cloud quickly leaps out of the helicopter to follow.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he hisses as he passes Sephiroth.

Sephiroth pauses. “I did not wish to disturb your rest. Especially considering this… process of speaking to the President will most likely be lengthy.”

“And it’s not important I be there for that ‘process’?”

“If he had any questions I could not answer, they could have waited for you to wake to answer them.”

“Because President Shinra is so renowned for his patience.”

“I have no concern for the whims of President Shinra,” Sephiroth says, almost flippant.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud says, confused, “you _work_ for him.” Hadn’t Sephiroth once said that ShinRa was all he knew? He’d had an almost passive obedience _then,_ undoubtedly ingrained by Hojo and ShinRa’s claim to him as their so-called property. Genesis’s desertion had been what ultimately caused him to question his orders for the sake of protecting his friends, and Cloud had thought that the shift in attitude would occur much slower now that he’d prevented it. So why—?

“My occupation changes nothing. Like I said, any questions I could not answer satisfactorily could have waited until after you were well-rested.” Sephiroth gives him a sharp look. “Are you well-rested?”

“I’m fine,” Cloud answers hastily. “I’d rather answer their questions myself, anyways. Less chance for misunderstandings.” And gods, Cloud had never expected he’d ever _volunteer_ to speak with a Shinra.

Genesis and Angeal fall back closer to Cloud and Sephiroth as they squeeze into the elevator. It’s empty but for them, everyone else most likely scared off from riding with all three of ShinRa’s most powerful SOLDIERs. Cloud's glad—it’s already cramped enough with just the three over-six-foot-tall men. The Director swipes his keycard, very carefully not sparing them a glance as Genesis leans in close and asks, "And what are the two of you whispering about so secretively?"

“Nothing you should concern yourself with,” Sephiroth says.

"President Shinra," Cloud says. "I take it he's angry."

"Oh, absolutely livid," Genesis says, his cheer at odds with his words. "This is the first mission Sephiroth has ever failed, you know."

"Considering I managed to persuade the party responsible, a man we've been chasing the past year, to ally with ShinRa, I most certainly do not think that this mission should be considered a failure," Sephiroth says icily.

“The reactor did blow up,” Genesis points out. “Quite spectacularly, if reports are to be believed. Was that truly your doing, little bird?”

Cloud blinks. “I—what did you call me?”

“Little bird,” Genesis says. “Do keep up, dear.”

Cloud gives him an assessing look. He’s— _brighter,_ almost, eyes shining, hair less lank and stringy, skin less pallid. Even the Genesis from _then_ had never been this light, his past actions weighing as heavily on his appearance as the visible aging from the degradation. But it’s the pet names more than anything that give his improved disposition away. “Someone’s feeling better.”

“Oh, yes. All thanks to you, of course. Angeal took a month or two to come around, but he’s doing quite well too.”

Angeal, who’s chosen to stay silent and listen to them converse until now, gives Cloud a brief smile and nod. “I didn’t even notice anything was wrong until afterwards.” His expression is friendly enough, but his eyes are searching, still wary. Cloud isn’t insulted; it’s good at least one of them is suspicious of the strange man who has offered them miraculous help without revealing any ulterior motives.

“Good,” Cloud says. He cocks his head at Sephiroth. “What about you?”

“I felt no difference, but I do not doubt it worked similarly.”

Cloud nods. It makes sense, considering that Sephiroth had never experienced physical degradation the same way Angeal and Genesis had—no, rather than suffering any outward effects, his particular genetic makeup had made him susceptible to a much more creeping, insidious backslide into insanity. Now, if Cloud is lucky, Aerith’s holy water will have also removed the lasting connection between Cloud and Sephiroth and JENOVA and all his problems with the alien virus will have been already solved.

Of course, though, Cloud is never lucky, so he’s not holding his breath.

“We’ve arrived,” the Director announces alongside the elevator’s cheery _ding,_ the doors sliding open smoothly. Their conversation has clearly gone over his head, and the hard line of his mouth shows his frustration.

When they enter the President’s office—though it’s more like an entire floor, really—the pudgy man is sitting with his hands folded on top of his desk, eyes narrowed. Tseng stands ramrod-straight to his left with, surprisingly, Reeve fidgeting nervously on the other side.

The President opens with, “Sephiroth. What is the meaning of this?”

“You’ll have to specify, President,” Sephiroth says.

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about. I send you to keep my reactor functional, and what happens? It’s not just deactivated, it’s blown sky-high! How did this even happen?”

“One of them engaged in battle to distract me while his… compatriot planted bombs in the reactor,” Sephiroth answers stiffly.

“You’re telling me that a random terrorist can keep up with our number one SOLDIER?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Who are all these enhanced men?” Shinra roars, slamming his fist against his desk. “First the blond, now this new one? Is our competition all just crawling out of the woodwork lately? The undetectable breach in security for making SOLDIERs, then the reactor blueprints—what next? Do you have _any_ good news for me?”

“Well,” Sephiroth says, still masterfully blank, “it is actually only a single individual. I was able to speak with him.”

“And?”

“And he’s standing right here,” Cloud says, impatient with the roundabout conversation, and he knows this lack of patience is caused by being in ShinRa Headquarters all over again. It sets him on edge, and part of him regrets agreeing to Sephiroth’s offer, even if it is truly the most logical option.

“What?” Shinra stares. “You’re telling me _this_ is him?”

Cloud crosses his arms, frowning. That’s the same tone the Director had taken on when he’d found out too. Is it really so unbelievable?

When no one reacts, the President blanches. “Why—why is he still armed? Lazard? Security!”

“Now, there’s no need for that,” the Director—Lazard, apparently—says with a nervous laugh. “Ah—is there? Sephiroth?”

“Rest assured, Cloud and I have come to an… agreement,” Sephiroth says dryly.

“Your name is Cloud?” Tseng says suddenly, gaze hyper-focused.

Cloud knows Tseng well enough from _before_ to see the faint confusion carefully hidden on his face. Thanks to his several transformations, Cloud’s younger form is visibly older than before, much too old to supposedly be the “same person” as the one who entered Turk custody a few months ago. He might have considered investing in an alias, but anyone as skilled as them in lipreading would be able to see Sephiroth calling him Cloud in the footage from the Junon reactor. They’d be able to detect a delayed response to an unfamiliar name, anyways, so all Cloud says is, “Yes.”

Lazard coughs. “Back to this agreement of yours—what exactly were the terms?”

“What about the reactors?” Shinra inserts hastily. “We’ll have to discuss recompense before anything else. Reeve, do we have a damage estimate?”

Reeve jumps, looking startled at being addressed. “Oh—well, other than the Junon and Nibel reactors, none of the other reactors suffered extensive structural damage. It’s just…” He trails off.

“What? Spit it out,” Shinra says.

Reeve shakes his head at Cloud. “I still don’t know how you got your hands on the method, but… you did a good job.” He actually sounds vaguely _impressed._ He turns to address the President again. “Sir, he triggered the emergency shut-down mechanic installed in all reactors meant to be used in the case of mako overflow. It’s a lengthy and complex process, but it’s one of the few ways to shut the reactor down for an extended period of time, as it seals the pump shut without a way to reopen it without draining all the mako already present—which takes at least several years, as you’re aware, and then afterwards it’ll take about another year to reconnect to the mako reservoir after leaving it untouched for so long—”

Shinra interrupts, “So you’re saying they can’t be fixed for at least a few years.”

“It’s a simple job once the mako’s all gone, but all the money in the world wouldn't be able to pay for the repair before that.” Reeve shrugs, then adds belatedly, “My apologies, sir.”

“Well?” Shinra asks Cloud. “Your actions will cause people across the Eastern and Western Continents to suffer a severe energy shortage and a considerable drop in standard of living for the foreseeable future. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What’s left in the reactors is enough to last a few years—that’s plenty of time to start looking into alternative energy,” Cloud answers as calmly as he can. “The people won’t suffer if you act fast enough.”

“Making new infrastructure based around a new energy source is _expensive,_ boy. And who knows what upstart companies will snap up our customers while we’re occupied with this mess? This is a projected loss of trillions of gil for ShinRa Company! And for what? A petty grudge? Teenage angst?”

Cloud’s mouth twists in disgust at the man’s greed. “When was the last time you did reactor maintenance? Actual maintenance. Not just monster cleanup for show.”

Lazard frowns. “Are you implying that there’s something wrong with our reactors?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Cloud says. “I’m telling you. There’s a structural inaccuracy in the Gongaga reactor that’s gone unnoticed for years. It would have exploded eventually if we hadn’t shut it down. Wild animals everywhere—peaceful ones—are mutating into monsters because you can’t be assed to dispose of your reactor waste properly. You use that stuff to make _recreational drugs._ What kind of effects do you think that shit’ll eventually have on humans? Why do you think infant mortality is so high in the Nibel mountain area? The Nibel reactor was leaking toxins into the water supply. Shutting it down wouldn’t have stopped the leakage, so we had to blow it up. What do _you_ have to say for _yourself?”_

Sephiroth shoots Cloud a quick glance, and Cloud realizes that his voice has been rising—not enough to give away his emotions to most people, but more than telling to people who know him well. He unclenches his hands from the tight fists they’d formed at his sides, taking a few deep breaths before he loses his temper further.

(This office, this building, this stupid fucking President… all these reminders make his skin crawl. He just wants this conversation to be over so he can _leave.)_


	11. Chapter 11

There’s a pause after Cloud says his piece. Then Lazard leans forward, hands folded under his chin disapprovingly.

“So you took it upon yourself to destroy the reactors rather than bring your concerns to ShinRa for a thorough investigation through legal channels?” he asks. “As you pointed out, a bit of reactor maintenance would have solved the first issue easily enough. And if you’d provided sufficient scientific evidence—a study or two examining the correlation between infant mortality, this mutation you speak of, and exposure to reactor waste, perhaps—”

“They exist,” Cloud says shortly, too irritated to expand on it further. “Ask Cosmo Canyon. You’ve just been ignoring public protest for years.”

“Their protests aren’t founded,” Shinra says, waving a hand. “There’s no scientific _basis_ for their claims that mako energy harms the Planet. Just a bunch of superstitious malarkey.”

“They’ve sure got more ‘scientific basis’ than the existence of the _Promised Land.”_

The President starts. “Who told you about that?”

Cloud ignores his question. “You know mako isn’t unlimited. You're blind if you think a myth will solve your problems for you. Like I said, alternative energy—”

“Are you saying the Promised Land doesn’t exist? How do you know?”

“We’re getting off topic,” Sephiroth interjects. “The reactors have already been shut down with no prospect of repair for the time being; there is no point in further debate. The most prudent course of action would be, as Cloud suggested, to simply invest in an alternative energy source.”

Shinra scoffs. “It’d be cheaper to just build new ones at this point. Why bother with all this alternative energy nonsense?”

“Unfortunately, sir,” Reeve says tentatively, “locations where mako is accessible for pumping are quite rare, and must be carefully vetted and prepared before construction. It’s unlikely we’ll find even one area fit for a new reactor, much less enough to replace all the ones that have gone defunct.”

Lazard folds his arms, looking troubled. “So we really have no choice other than to either wait for the reactors to come back online or, like Sephiroth said, to invest in something else.”

“I… might have some proposals for that,” Reeve says.

(Part of Cloud relaxes. Reeve is still Reeve, and he focuses on that reassuring fact instead of what he knows he is about to do. What he knows he has to do.)

They all watch Shinra closely as the man scowls thunderously down at his desk. Perhaps hoping he will listen is a bit farfetched, but President Shinra is, above all, a businessman. The money drain from missing several years in the energy industry and the prospect of losing their monopoly may convince him to seek greener pastures, so to speak.

Finally, the President grunts a vague affirmative and waves a hand at Reeve in acknowledgement, and Cloud breathes an internal sigh of relief.

“Try checking Corel out,” Cloud suggests. As of now, this Barret would still believe that mako energy is the town’s future, but Cloud can’t help but hope that Reeve might be able to convince him otherwise. “They used to be a mining town. Coal and oil won’t work long-term, but they’re better than mako, and easier to set up with current infrastructure than hydro or solar.”

Reeve looks surprised. “You know quite a bit about alternative energies.”

“I had some friends,” Cloud says, mouth twisting a bit ruefully. “Wouldn’t shut up about it. Must’ve picked up a thing or two from them.”

“I see,” Reeve says, stroking his chin in a familiar thoughtful motion. “I’d like to hear about their thoughts sometime, then, if you don’t mind?”

Cloud blinks. The idea of speaking to Reeve about the ideas his future self had come up with Barret and Cid seems somewhat ironic and maybe even like cheating, but he’s definitely not going to pass up the chance to get to know one of his friends again. “ … Sure. If I can.”

“If you can?” Reeve repeats.

“I’ve been told I’m a wanted man,” Cloud says dryly. “For death or recruitment, ShinRa isn’t picky. I like not having an entire army after my head, thanks, so here we are. I’d also rather skip the part where I’m locked in a cell and interrogated, but…”

“That will not be necessary,” Sephiroth says. “Will it. President.”

The way Sephiroth phrases it sounds more like a demand than a question, and Cloud resists the urge to wince. He’s already done a shitty job on his own of making sure Shinra isn’t pissed off at him, he knows, but Sephiroth’s tone does very little to help his case.

But Lazard is eyeing Cloud with interest, now, the idea of gaining another powerful SOLDIER clearly tempting. SOLDIER has been undermanned ever since the Wutai War started, after all, even without Genesis’s defection. “If you’re willing to cooperate with us and answer a few questions, then I don’t see why it would be,” he says, though his words are aimed to persuade the President. “It’d truly be a waste to have you locked up if you truly stand on par with Sephiroth.”

Shinra still looks skeptical, but the prospect of another Sephiroth-level asset to exploit has caught his attention, and he leans in. An intent audience. One Cloud had wanted to get, but the thought of being subjected once more to this man’s whims—

 _But that’s not going to happen,_ he reminds himself. _That’s why Sephiroth is here with me._

So Cloud crosses his arms and says in his best self-assured voice, “Let’s get this straight. I come with terms and conditions.”

Shinra’s face immediately darkens. “What right do you have, destroying my reactors, then marching into my office and saying your cooperation is _conditional—”_

“If you agree,” Cloud says, “you'll get a SOLDIER First-level ally. If you don’t, I’m leaving and getting on with my own business—which does involve the Midgar reactors, by the way.”

_“Sephiroth—”_

“In order to reach this deal, I gave my word that Cloud would not be harmed inside this tower,” Sephiroth says smoothly. “And you know better than most that I am a man of my word, President.”

Shinra turns a curious shade of purple.

Lazard frowns at Cloud. “If you leave, you’ll spend the rest of your life under pursuit. You said you didn’t want the army—”

“The army can’t do shit to stop me,” Cloud says bluntly, “but people will die. I’d rather not. How about you?”

This, at least, silences any protests Reeve and Lazard might have, and Shinra is still purple from Sephiroth’s blatant disobedience. To Cloud’s surprise, it’s Tseng who speaks up next.

“What of Aerith?” the Turk says, a calculating look in his eyes. “You would not be able to keep her safe from ShinRa if you choose to leave.”

Cloud hears Tseng’s silent admission underneath. _I won’t be able to keep her safe if you do this._ So he reassures, “I had someone with me in Junon. You must have seen through the cameras.”

Tseng nods slowly. “And since your companion is not here, he must be guarding Aerith, ready to whisk her away at a moment’s notice. I see.”

Shinra makes a frustrated noise. “You let the other one get away, Sephiroth? You—”

“Vincent’s sneaky,” Cloud deadpans, and Sephiroth’s mouth twitches, a suppressed look of amusement.

Lazard looks Cloud over once again. “I suppose… we could hear out your conditions.”

Cloud nods. “First. And biggest. The Midgar reactors—get rid of ‘em.” Before anyone can insert their outraged remarks, Cloud continues quickly, “Like I said, I’m stopping them one way or another. If there’s an army hot on my tail, though, I won’t be able to do it as, uh. Neatly.

“Outside of that first one, nothing big. No trips to the Science Department for any reason. I get to refuse or request certain missions. Stop bothering Aerith about me. That’s all.”

“These conditions are non-negotiable,” Sephiroth adds, eyes narrowed and piercing. “If they are not to your liking, keep under consideration that you'd be losing a man who is perfectly capable of keeping up with me in battle. And if you find that you would rather seek retribution for his actions… well, I am in no way inclined to fight him. Quite the opposite, you’ll find.” He pauses, then adds, “Outside of friendly sparring. I’d very much like a rematch.”

Shinra gapes in the face of Sephiroth’s subtle threat, and Cloud hastens to soften Sephiroth’s words. “It’s beneficial all around, see—I don’t have an army out for my head, less people die from exploding reactors, you get another person to kill monsters for you—”

“The loss of the reactors isn’t quite what I’d call beneficial for ShinRa,” Reeve murmurs, but Cloud can hear the rueful note to his voice. As the one who’d designed them, the experience of slowly coming to realize across the years the harm they cause must have been painful.

Cloud shrugs. “The reactors are inevitable.”

Shinra finally relents. “Fine! Fine, I’ll deactivate the gods-forsaken reactors. You’d better be worth every gil, you hear me, boy?”

Cloud watches the President carefully. To be quite honest, he doesn’t quite trust him to keep his word, especially not for Reactor 0. But that’s a can of worms for another day; besides, Shinra reneging on his deal would be a pretty convenient way for Cloud to leave without too many repercussions himself. Lazard, at least, still seems to have enough honor to object to hunting Cloud down if it’s Shinra who breaks his word first, and SOLDIER is a hefty portion of ShinRa’s military power.

(Cloud isn’t sure when Lazard turned against ShinRa, and Genesis from _before_ hadn’t known, either. But he knows for certain that Lazard’s loyalty to ShinRa is tenuous at best, and that will have to be enough.)

“If the President has found himself amenable to the first condition,” Lazard says, “then the rest are certainly all doable. Firsts get the privilege of choosing missions, so it wouldn’t be difficult to implement the same policy for you. Professor Hojo may kick up a fuss over not being able to examine you, but… as a SOLDIER not currently undergoing treatment, you’ll be under my jurisdiction, not his. He’s been very curious as to how you got your enhancements, thought, which _is_ a security issue. Would you be willing to disclose…?”

Cloud scowls. “How else? A scientist.”

Lazard’s gaze sharpens. “So you were experimented on by a rogue scientist? Do you remember who it was?”

“I don’t… remember much from my time in the labs.”

“Is that so.”

“I had mako poisoning.”

“How did you escape, then?” Lazard asks. “It's common knowledge that people who suffer from mako poisoning are left in a vegetative state and have nearly zero chance of recovery.”

Cloud sighs. It’s not like he hadn’t expected it, but he wishes the discussion hadn’t turned into a spill-your-backstory session. Memories of Zack are always painful and bittersweet and just—too much. Too private and special and precious to share with this audience of blank strangers for the sake of passing their judgment. “My friend… he was in there too—he broke us out. He was gunned down protecting me. It took me a long time to… recover, I guess. I’d really rather not… cross paths with any more scientists anytime soon.”

“I see,” Lazard says. “Very well.”

“What about safety?” Shinra says. “He could be unstable. Dangerous.”

Lazard gives Cloud a dubious look—that damned _look_ again.

From behind them, Genesis coughs, concealing a laugh. Honestly, Cloud had almost forgotten that he and Angeal have been standing behind them as silent spectators the entire time.

“I’ve been stable for over a decade,” Cloud says, shooting Genesis an indignant glare.

Beside Genesis, a frown creases Angeal’s brow. “How—old are you, Cloud?”

Cloud blinks. Honestly, he hasn’t thought about it at all. He hadn’t been keeping track, _before,_ but he’d definitely been over thirty. He’s technically fourteen now, but physically speaking, he’d place his guess at around eighteen or nineteen; however, being seen as a teen rankles him slightly. Including the year he’d spent as a ghost, he’d be cumulatively over forty-five, but it’d be a bit unfair to count the years before he’d remembered, as he hadn’t really been _aware,_ so they’d presumably passed by exactly the same as they had the first time around. And he definitely doesn’t _look_ anywhere near forty-five, so… “Twenty?”

In response to his evident hesitation, Angeal asks, “Is that a guess?”

“ … Like I said, my memory’s not great.”

Angeal’s frown grows deeper. “I see.”

"Well, if you say you’ve been stable without treatment for over a decade, I see no reason for concern," Lazard says, bringing their conversation back on track. "Why don't we head to the VR training room? You can have your spar, Sephiroth—I'd like a demonstration so I understand exactly what I’m accepting into my program. And perhaps seeing footage of Cloud in action will help the President feel more comfortable with this decision."

-

"Are you partial to any location in particular?" Sephiroth asks, pressing a few buttons on his PHS as Cloud slides the VR helmet on.

"Doesn't matter. We can't fight all-out in here, right?" he asks, recalling fuzzy memories of the room going up in sparks whenever Zack had overloaded an attack materia and hit the walls.

"No," Sephiroth agrees, "but I believe limiting ourselves to swordplay only will be enough to preserve the integrity of the room."

Cloud hums noncommittally. He knows exactly how overboard Sephiroth can get with just swordplay; he’s the one who has a penchant for dramatically hurling skyscrapers at his opponents, after all. But maybe this Sephiroth is different, and will hold back accordingly.

Or maybe this Sephiroth has never met his match before, and doesn't actually know how far he can go with just Masamune.

As the room dissolves and reforms, rather ironically, into an abandoned cityscape of Midgar, Cloud slides only one blade out of his harness and resolves to hold back. Just to be careful.

It’s too bad Sephiroth doesn't.

-

"By the Goddess," Genesis murmurs as Cloud and Sephiroth collide with an explosive _clang,_ their movements nearly too fast for him to process.

They've all gathered in the observation room adjacent to the training room to watch the match. Angeal looks stunned as Sephiroth uses their locked blades to push Cloud skidding across the rooftop, the blond's comparatively tiny frame somehow withstanding the massive force. Cloud quickly disengages, bounding backwards across several rooftops.

Sephiroth frowns. Through the audio recording, they hear, _“We are no longer trapped underwater, Cloud. There is no need to hold back.”_ Piece said, he hurls himself back at Cloud.

 _“Wait—”_ Cloud says, words interrupted by the loud clang of their swords connecting. Around them, reinforced concrete buckles and shatters under the backlash of each connecting strike. The ones that Cloud dodge send entire chunks sliding off to crash into the streets nearly a thousand feet below. _“The room can't—we're just here to—Sephiroth—!”_

 _“This is just a demonstration, yes,”_ Sephiroth purrs, _“but I_ will _have my rematch sooner or later, Cloud. And I am a very impatient man.”_

President Shinra scoffs as their next clash flings Cloud off the roof and into the side of a building. "He looks pretty overwhelmed to me."

"Holy shit," Genesis says instead of bothering to respond to Shinra's asinine comment. Then the dust from Cloud’s harsh collision clears enough for them to catch a glimpse of what happens, and that leaves them all speechless.

Cloud has somehow landed perfectly from his high-velocity tumble, using the skyscraper's side as a springboard to rebound explosively back towards Sephiroth. He pulls another blade from his ridiculously complex harness, and their next clash forces Sephiroth to actually stumble backwards, the concrete beneath his feet crumpling like wet paper. Cloud takes the break in pace to slide his two swords together in a fluid motion to form a single blade. Like puzzle pieces, they click together to form the large Buster-shaped blade that Genesis had seen slung over Cloud's back that fateful night. 

Sephiroth smirks as the pace of the battle intensifies. Somehow moving even faster than before, Cloud finally takes the offensive with renewed force from the much heavier blade, viciously attacking Sephiroth’s stationary figure. Using the advantage of his longer range to deflect each lightning-quick swing easily, Sephiroth gloats, _“So you’ve finally decided to—”_

Before he can finish his sentence, though, Cloud twists Masamune into an awkward angle as it blocks his next attack, pushing it up as he uses his shorter stature to slip underneath. In half a heartbeat, there are two blades again, one still holding Masamune back, the other right up against Sephiroth’s throat.

“What?!” Shinra lurches out of his seat. “What was that? Zoom in!”

Lazard fiddles with a few buttons on the console, and the camera narrows in on Cloud and Sephiroth’s faces. Sephiroth looks shocked, slit pupils dilated into dark ellipses. Cloud, on the other hand, looks uncharacteristically fierce for such a usually blasé man, eyebrows furrowed and lips curled into a snarl.

 _“Cloud?”_ Sephiroth says, almost sounding uncertain.

Cloud blinks once, twice, like a man coming out of a dream. He suddenly pulls back, expression shuttering blank as his gaze drops to the floor. _“ … I told you to be careful.”_

Sephiroth watches him, probably trying to figure out if he is referring to the VR technology or their demonstration or perhaps whatever triggered Cloud’s unusual ferocity.

 _“The room,”_ Cloud clarifies, holding up his gloved hand. Arcs of barely restrained blue-gold energy crackle at his fingertips. His Limit Break. He clenches it back into a fist, letting it fall back to his side as the energy flickers out. After a pause, the corner of his mouth kicks up. _“Your footwork, too.”_

Sephiroth’s eyes widen and his eyebrows raise—a practically dumbstruck expression, for him. _“That was—!”_

Cloud’s smile tugs a tiny bit wider. _“Told you, didn’t I?”_

 _“How did you…”_ Sephiroth shakes his head. _“Never mind. I assume that was an adequate enough demonstration of your abilities. Let’s go.”_

“So?” Lazard asks Angeal and Genesis, zooming the camera back out to watch the two figures on the screen pull off their helmets as the simulation shatters into bright polygons. “What’s your verdict?”

“Sephiroth… he usually only fights like that with us,” Angeal says, gaze still glued to the screen. “Both of us. Together. He was overconfident, which led to him falling for Cloud's trick, but the fact that he was caught off guard by a single opponent at all already speaks much for Cloud’s ability.”

“He was having quite the time, wasn’t he?” Still remembering the time Sephiroth had sliced the illusionary Sister Ray to ribbons, Genesis adds, “He only puts on dramatic displays of power like that when he’s having _fun.”_

Angeal stifles a laugh. “You really shouldn’t be one to talk about dramatic displays, Gen.”

Genesis sniffs. “I, at least, do not engage in _property damage_ during the act.”

“What’s this about property damage?” Sephiroth asks. The door slides seamlessly shut behind the two men as they step into the observation room.

“Oh, hello, Sephiroth,” Angeal says. “Genesis was just commenting on some of your, uh…”

“Propensities during battle,” Genesis finishes.

“I do not engage in _property damage,”_ Sephiroth says, adopting the exact same offended inflection Genesis had mere minutes ago.

Behind him, Cloud mutters, “Yes you do."

"See, even Cloud recognizes your fatal flaw," Genesis says, "and he’s known you but for a day.”

“Anyways,” Lazard politely inserts, “I do believe that was more than enough evidence of your ability. President…”

He still looks like he’s bitten a lemon, but even President Shinra isn’t fool enough to kick up a fuss about someone who can have Sephiroth’s throat at the tip of their blade within seconds. Not when Sephiroth himself seems less than keen to duke it out in a life-or-death battle with said person. “I’ll be holding regular conferences on implementing different energy measures. I’ll expect all of you to be present— _especially_ you. Cloud.”

Cloud nods, a brief downwards jerk of his chin.

“I'd say congratulations and welcome to the program, but I'm assuming it would be rather out of place in this situation," Lazard says wryly. When Cloud doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him expectantly, he coughs and adds, “Well, I suppose we’d best get you outfitted with a uniform, then, SOLDIER. Follow me.”

-

“We’ll start with this one,” Lazard says, handing Cloud the gray-blue uniform of a SOLDIER Third. “It’s bad enough for morale that a complete stranger is waltzing in claiming a position in the program without going through the mandatory testing. We don’t need to be dealing with the backlash of letting said stranger obtain a position as First, no matter how qualified you are.”

Genesis adds, “There’s also the added benefit that only SOLDIER Third uniforms are available in this small of a size.”

Cloud resists the urge to glare. “Why are you here,” he asks dully instead. Angeal had chosen to leave, citing responsibilities with training some SOLDIER Thirds, but Genesis had followed them all the way to the SOLDIER supply station, and now into the changing room.

“Why, I can’t simply be a concerned friend?”

“No.”

“How blunt!” Genesis puts a hand over his chest. “Sephiroth, do something about this cruelty! It’s uncalled for!”

Cloud can’t see Sephiroth’s expression with the man hovering behind him in the eerie overprotective way that he is, but he imagines it must be something rather amusing as he also says blandly, “No.”

“Two peas in a pod, you two are,” Genesis laments.

Cloud ignores him in favor of setting his new uniform down on the bench, slinging Tsurugi off his back and leaning it next to the bundle. Next to come off are his shoulder pauldron and sword harness, followed by his single sleeve. He regretfully unties Aerith’s ribbon from his left arm and sets it carefully on top of the pile.

From what he remembers, SOLDIERs aren’t allowed personal accessories or clothing while in uniform until they reach First; they can’t even use anything other than ShinRa standard-issue equipment. Unfortunate, but he understands where the Director’s reservations come from. Making any more exceptions than they already have for a complete stranger who’d already jumped unfairly through the ranks will only spawn resentment and dissatisfaction throughout the army.

He sighs. Undressing in front of others reminds him of his time spent naked in the labs to be prodded and poked at dispassionately by scientists; it makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. But to refuse to do so would likely reveal vulnerability in itself, so he reluctantly tugs his shirt out of his belt.

Genesis makes an amused noise. “So eager to undress in front of us?”

Cloud pauses, wondering for a moment if perhaps in his attempt to cover up his discomfort he’s ended up overcompensating instead. But Genesis is the one who wanted to stay, so Cloud just shoots him a dubious look. “This is a changing room.”

“Genesis,” Sephiroth says from behind Cloud.

Genesis ignores him. “By all means, little bird, continue if you’d like. I for one am certainly not objecting to such a show.”

“You do you,” Cloud says, shrugging, then resumes pulling his shirt off over his head.

 _“Genesis,”_ Sephiroth says, something akin to a snarl in his voice, and Cloud hears smug laughter over a hasty flurry of steps scurrying out of the room. By the time the black cloth clears Cloud's head, the door’s sliding mechanic has already hissed shut.

The telltale prickle of sensation down his spine, though, signals to Cloud that Sephiroth is still present. Before he can pull on his new blue sweater, Sephiroth says, “Cloud.”

“Mn?”

“What is this.”

The prickle heightens into a screech across his nerves, and Cloud jerks away before Sephiroth can touch his bared skin.

“Don’t—” Cloud hisses from behind gritted teeth, the tingling from where Sephiroth had nearly touched the deep scar directly over his pounding, fearful heart nearly unbearable. His chest heaves with each hyperventilating breath he takes; his fingers clench tight around the uniform he’d instinctively pulled close to his chest, as if it could protect him. A corner of his mind wishes, quiet and bitter, that this man wouldn’t affect him in such a way, wouldn’t pry away his carefully unflappable composure and force him to bare the deep vulnerabilities he’s never shown anyone with a single look.

“Most of your scars are standard for someone experienced with battle. But this scar goes cleanly through your chest,” Sephiroth observes, unmoved. “There’s a matching one deep over your left hip, too. Where you were wounded in our first fight. Another through your right shoulder. And these shallow ones, scattered all over your torso…”

Cloud tenses, sensing the way Sephiroth reaches for his scarred shoulder. But the man’s hand stops before making contact and instead hovers directly over the smooth white mark.

“You’ve been impaled—repeatedly by the same blade, with the intent to prolong your pain as long as possible before you fell unconscious from blood loss. If you were meant to fall unconscious at all.” Sephiroth pauses, clearly expecting Cloud to reply.

Cloud doesn’t.

“Who did this,” Sephiroth says, soft and deadly.

Cloud’s gaze drops to the floor.

“Cloud.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Cloud.”

Cloud finally turns to face Sephiroth. “No. It doesn’t. He’s long gone.”

Sephiroth scans his expression. “You aren’t telling the full truth.”

Cloud frowns. Since when has Sephiroth become so good at reading him?

“Cloud,” Sephiroth says again. “Please. Who hurt you?”

“I told you it doesn’t matter." When Sephiroth looks like he might press further, Cloud adds, "You… can’t do anything about it.” That’s true enough, isn’t it?

There’s no outward change in his expression, but somehow, Sephiroth turns cold. Hard. “Is that so.”

Cloud chews his bottom lip, worried. Suddenly, the usual minefield of navigating conversation with adult-Sephiroth seems to have upgraded to high explosives. “Sephiroth…”

Sephiroth turns away. “Finish changing. The others are waiting outside.” With that, he sweeps out of the room.

Cloud’s shoulders slump as he sighs.

-

“Looking good, SOLDIER,” Genesis says with a wink the moment Cloud exits the changing room.

Cloud resists the urge to wince. “Please don’t,” he mutters under his breath. Then, carefully ignoring the way Sephiroth looms off to the side, he turns to Lazard and asks, “Well? Now what?”

“Well,” Lazard says, “I imagine your schedule will be clear for at least the next few days. The Turks—”

“You promised he would not be interrogated,” Sephiroth interrupts.

“He won’t be,” Lazard says, in the particular tone of voice one might use to soothe a rampaging behemoth. “Tseng does have a few questions he’d like to ask—purely for the security of the company, you understand—but it will not take place in a cell, nor will Cloud be detained anywhere. In fact, he could even pay you a house call, if that’s what you would prefer, Cloud.”

“A… house call?” Cloud repeats blankly.

“Ah, I forgot to inform you, didn’t I?” Lazard says. “Although it was a decision we reached only about fifteen minutes ago. You’ll be rooming with one of our SOLDIER Thirds for the foreseeable future, Cloud.”

Cloud nods. He’d expected this; if he isn’t to be detained in a cell somewhere, then he’s to live with someone who shares his new rank of SOLDIER Third. There’s much less security should he have a mind to renege on their deal, sure, but there’s still some loyal, foolish, _naive_ teenager to keep an eye on him twenty-four seven.

Sephiroth, though, seems less than pleased. “A mere Third? Why would—”

He’s interrupted by the hurried stomping of army-issue boots hurtling down the hall towards them.

“Sorry I’m late!” the newcomer says as he screeches to a halt, bent over and huffing slightly for breath. Then he straightens and snaps a salute. “SOLDIER Third Class Zack Fair, reporting for duty!”

Cloud’s heart twists itself as it does a strange in-between of a leap to his throat and a lurch to his stomach, and it leaves him feeling both out of breath and slightly sick at once.

_Zack._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not quite the rooming situation most of you were gunning for lmao but i still hope it doesn't disappoint!!
> 
> a few of you have expressed interest in cloud and sephiroth sleeping together in a, ah, _different_ way anyways, how would y'all feel about a pwp oneshot (set/posted later of course)? it'd have to be separate to preserve the fic rating but


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fandom consensus is that troopers live in barracks but soldier ranges anywhere from apartments to full-blown flats, so i'm just gonna... [stuffs cloud and zack into a college dorm room] there.
> 
> anyways welcome to chapter 12 aka the kabedon chapter

"Hey! You! It's you!" Zack says, falling out of his salute to point dramatically at Cloud.

Cloud stares, taking all of Zack in. Sure, he'd seen him in the Wastes all those months ago, but that had been an emergency. Here, _now,_ with nothing else to focus on but Zack's face and Zack's voice and Zack's smile—

"That was so not cool of you, tricking me like that!"

And despite the fact that it had been _Zack_ who'd assumed he was a First—Cloud had said nothing, after all—Cloud finds himself stammering, "Uh, sorry—"

"I really did think I'd be able to take you out for lunch, you know!" Zack continues blithely. "So yeah. Not cool. But I guess now we have plenty of time to make up for it, yeah?"

Cloud stammers something incoherent again, thrown. For all that he'd used his pep as a mask when troubled, Zack hadn't ever quite been this cheerful, and especially not around strangers. Friendly and approachable, yes, but by the time Cloud had met him, Angeal had already abandoned him, and he’d watched the world with much warier eyes. This bright, bubbly enthusiasm—

(He's so young. Untroubled. Innocent.)

"I never got your name, by the way, new roommate," Zack says, grinning. "I'm SOLDIER Third Class Zack Fair! And you are?"

" … Cloud," Cloud says slowly. He almost adds his last name in an echo from a long-past memory, but remembers that Lazard and Genesis are still here just in time.

Zack beams. “Cloud! Nice to meet you again, Cloud!”

Cloud nods mutely. It _is_ nice to meet Zack again, in all the worst ways possible; it has part of him relaxing, feeling safe because Zack is here, and how can he not be safe around _Zack—_

But this is not his Zack, and he is not safe. No, this Zack is ShinRa’s pawn, however oblivious to it he may be, set in place to befriend him and pry secrets from his loosened lips. Zack never should have gotten involved, never _would_ have if not for Cloud—

“Well,” Lazard says, snapping Cloud out of his thoughts, “I’m sure you two are both eager to get to know your new roommate—working out a living arrangement and all that. So Zack, why don’t you show Cloud your room and help get him settled in? Sephiroth and I still have a few things to discuss."

Sephiroth looks less than pleased, but it’s an order for all that it’s phrased as a suggestion, and he says nothing in protest.

Zack salutes. “Sir!” Then he turns his radiant grin on Cloud. “Ready to head up?”

Cloud’s about to nod when Sephiroth says, “Cloud.”

Cloud turns back.

“We will talk later,” Sephiroth says, and it sounds like a vow.

Cloud swallows hard, then dips his head in acknowledgement.

-

“So you’re… a Third?” Cloud asks delicately as they make their way through the halls, passing rows and rows of numbered identical steel-colored doors. Everyone must be either on missions or training or something, because there isn’t a soul in sight, and Cloud is glad for the blessed lack of people to stare.

“Yep!” Zack says. “Why?”

“I just…” Cloud pauses for a moment, thinking of how to best phrase what he wants to say. Originally, Zack had been a Second for a while by the time Genesis had defected; it’s already a month or so past that, now. Many things have changed, of course, the least of which being that all the SOLDIERs who had defected with Genesis are still in ShinRa’s employ, but Cloud needs to take as much as possible into account so he can keep on doing—whatever this is. Plotting. Planning. Anticipating the things as they come, one by one, because the moment he loses this advantage is the moment things will start going to hell in a handbasket. “I thought you’d be a Second by now,” he finally decides to say.

Zack looks a tad embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head. “Oh, yeah… actually, after the thing with the Zolom—well, I kinda got put on probation for disobeying mission orders, so I can’t get promoted or anything ‘til the next cycle. Even got banned from missions for a little bit. You really think I would’ve made Second by now?”

“Definitely,” Cloud says. “ … Sorry about that.”

Zack waves his arms quickly. “No, you don’t have to say sorry! It’s not like it was your fault, and it was totally worth saving that kid anyways. Angeal let me off real lightly, too—I didn’t get _actually_ punished, really, and I just have to wait another few weeks or so. But you really did mean it when you said you thought I could make it to First, didn’t you?”

Cloud cocks his head. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Zack shrugs, but he’s smiling—not the huge shining one he puts on for others, but something smaller and genuine and no less bright. “Thanks. Like I said, it means a lot to hear that from someone like you.”

“Not a First,” Cloud mumbles, more out of habit than anything else, but Zack just shakes his head.

“I’m not talking about that, man! I mean—sure, you’re super strong and super cool and all that, but what’s more important is the way you just… jumped in and saved some complete strangers because you thought it was the right thing to do. Didn’t ask ShinRa for credit or anything, and—I dunno, that’s exactly how heroes should be like, I feel.”

Cloud frowns down at his new ShinRa-issue boots. They reflect the fluorescent lights above them with every shift of his feet, stiff and shiny and black. He doesn’t deserve any of Zack’s praise; it’s his fault that Zack had been in danger in the first place, and he hadn’t exactly been an uninvested _stranger,_ either. “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

"Hey, don't sell yourself short! You could've just left us hanging out there to dry."

"Zack," Cloud says solemnly, "you can't just trust strangers like this. How do you know I didn't ask a kid to hang out in the marshes to lure a SOLDIER in, then save them to gain ShinRa's trust?"

Zack stops in his tracks and makes a humming noise, tapping his chin in thought. "Well, for one, I hadn't thought of that at all! So why would someone who wanted to trick me like that tell me what they did?" When Cloud opens his mouth to tell him that there are, in fact, many people who enjoy these kinds of mind games who would do just that, Zack holds up a hand and makes a shushing noise. "I'm not done yet. Lots of people say I'm a great judge of character. And I definitely don't think you seem like the kind of guy who'd do that kind of stuff. You’re, like, what Angeal would call _honorable,_ y’know? Plus Sephiroth trusts you, right?"

"He really shouldn't," Cloud mutters.

"See, there you go! A tricky backstabbing bastard type wouldn't go around saying stuff like that!" Zack beams down at him as if his pronouncement resolves everything, shifting just so, and for a moment Cloud's chest constricts as he anticipates a large hand ruffling his hair as Zack always used to. But this Zack is not his Zack. All he does is rifle through his pockets and pull out a key card, and Cloud suddenly realizes that they've long stopped in front of a door. Zack swipes his card across the black pad below the handle, and the device makes a quiet beeping noise, the door unlocking with a smooth _click._

"Ta-da! Home sweet home," Zack announces, swinging the door open wide with a showy gesture.

Cloud hadn't expected much, really, from something that might be considered a glorified dorm room, and he is in no way surprised. It's leagues better than the barracks he remembers sleeping in as an infantryman, of course, but still austere and barren for all that Zack's contained clutter covers a good portion of the left side of the room. On the uninhabited half, the empty bed’s tan-gray sheets are turned down into sharp, smooth corners. There's a tiny dresser pressed up against it, its dull metal complementing both the sheets and the dingy off-white of the walls, and when Cloud slides one of its drawers open it releases a musty-smelling puff of dust. He sneezes.

“My old roommate was discharged a few months ago,” Zack says, sounding a tad apologetic. “I haven't really had time to clean his side of the room since then, sorry."

"Discharged?" Cloud repeats warily. SOLDIER doesn't just _discharge_ its members; they either die in service or mysteriously vanish after retirement. Truly a lifelong career in all the worst ways.

"Some kinda complications with the mako not working right in his system, I think." Zack shrugs, unconcerned. "At least he gets to chill at home now—he'd been talking about missing his ma anyways.”

"Oh," Cloud says, feeling a bit sick. Complications with mako. That might as well be shorthand for _snatched by Hojo,_ and the reminder has him making a silent note to himself to ask Vincent about the progress on his and Aerith’s side of things.

Even as Zack rambles on about maybe trying to check in on his former roommate soon, Cloud cocks his head, listening intently for the telltale high-pitched whine of electronic devices the way Vincent had taught him once, _before._ He has no doubt that ShinRa had taken the chance to bug the room while Zack was out picking Cloud up, and he isn’t disappointed; he pinpoints the quiet whirr of a video camera from the direction of two opposite corners, giving anyone watching on the other end a good view of the entire room, and the near-inaudible buzzing of a sound-recording device somewhere near Zack's dresser.

“Anyways!” Zack says brightly. “Bathroom’s to the right, we share it with Seb and Essai in the room next to us. Pots and lighters and stuff are banned—food’s always served in the mess. The dresser is for your clothes and any other stuff you might have… although it doesn’t look like you brought much with you?” He cocks his head in question.

Cloud shrugs as he moves to do just that. Other than his outfit from _before,_ which he folds neatly into a corner of the drawer, he’d left his old clothing with Vincent along with all their supplies. They’d been getting a bit small even before his latest transformation, anyways, and it’s not like he’ll have much chance to be out of SOLDIER uniform now. “Just my sword. But they’ll… probably take it.”

Zack looks horrified by the very thought. “Your sword? I know we have regs against using your own stuff, but your sword? They can’t take that! It’s—it’s so…”

He gestures vaguely towards Tsurugi, still slung over Cloud’s back. Cloud’s not sure if he’s referring to its unique design or if he simply subscribes very strongly to the philosophy that an individual’s sword is something intensely private and meaningful. Either way, Tsurugi _is_ intensely meaningful, at least to Cloud. It carries the weight of Zack’s legacy in its shape, yet affords Cloud all the swiftness and adaptability he needs for a style that he can, for once, call his own—not Zack’s, not Sephiroth’s, but _Cloud’s._ So even if he can technically call it to him whenever he needs, he's still not quite comfortable with it falling into ShinRa's hands, either.

Cloud pats down the folded clothes for lack of anything better to do with his hands. “I… hope they don’t,” he says finally. “But Lazard said no more exceptions. And I—”

He’s interrupted by a firm knocking at the door, once, twice. Zack looks surprised, but yells, “Coming!” as he scrambles to answer.

“Sephiroth,” Zack says, voice startled, and on instinct, Cloud jerks up ramrod-straight from his slightly-bent position over the dresser. “Uh, sir! Come on—in…?”

Sephiroth steps into the room even as Zack’s stuttered invitation falters, and he looms larger-than-life, intimidating presence magnified by the tiny, enclosed space. Zack shuts the door and follows, lingering out of the way by the wall as he watches with wide, curious eyes.

"Cloud," Sephiroth greets.

"Sephiroth," Cloud answers, wary. He shuts the drawer and turns to face Sephiroth head-on.

Sephiroth glances around, looking almost awkward. "I brought you a spare uniform," he says, holding it out stiffly in front of him like a shield. “Your new key card is in one of its pockets. You have standard clearance for a Third; anything else will require an escort such as myself.”

Cloud takes it and sets it aside. “ … Thanks.”

“I also,” Sephiroth says, glancing briefly back at Zack, “took the liberty of obtaining permission for you to retain your sword.”

“My sword?” Cloud blinks. “Why would you—?”

But all Sephiroth does is regard him silently, head cocked ever so slightly. Then—

"Third Class Fair," Sephiroth says abruptly. "Dismissed."

Zack jolts, startled by the abrupt address. “Uh—sir? This is… this is my room…”

Sephiroth frowns. He doesn’t seem to register the issue at hand, and Cloud winces. “Sorry, Zack. Can you give us some time alone?”

Zack wavers a bit, clearly reluctant, but finally concedes. “I’ll be down in the cafeteria if you need anything, then, Cloud. Let me know when you finish up, okay?”

The moment the door shuts behind him, the weight of Sephiroth’s intense focus falls back on Cloud, and he has to force the tension from his limbs as his body automatically braces itself for battle under the man’s scrutinizing gaze. He doesn’t lie to himself and assume he’s completely successful, though; Sephiroth is well-practiced in reading every line of stress in people’s bodies, not to mention how good he seems to be at reading Cloud himself.

“I wanted to at least do this for you,” Sephiroth eventually says. “Your sword was… important to you. Back then.”

“Sephiroth,” Cloud says, distinctly aware of how their every word is being recorded, “we shouldn’t be having this conversation right now—”

“No,” Sephiroth says. Cloud’s words seem to spark something, and his eyes narrow, sharp and angry. “Stop running from me, Cloud. Every time I try to speak to you, we are interrupted. So no, we are going to talk about this. Here and now. I knew your story for ShinRa would not line up completely with what little I know of your past, but—”

 _“Sephiroth,”_ Cloud says louder, trying to drown Sephiroth’s voice out even as the man keeps speaking. He understands his frustration, truly, but the cameras—

Cloud stands on his toes and reaches up on autopilot, tugging Sephiroth down close—close enough that he feels the man's sharp intake of breath, sees his slit pupils flex and dilate in shock as he abruptly falls silent.

"Cloud…?"

"Sephiroth," Cloud murmurs against Sephiroth’s lips, "do you trust me?"

"I—" Sephiroth cuts himself off, a flash of something dark and wary crossing his expression. After another moment of hesitation, he answers, "I do."

It's no wonder Sephiroth doubts him now, Cloud tells himself. It's doubt that Cloud's own evasiveness has instilled in him, because to give Sephiroth answers—well, Cloud wouldn't even know where or how to begin. And even if he'd accepted the loss of Sephiroth's trust as a result of what needs to be done—had been surprised earlier by Sephiroth's willingness to help him, even—he can't help but feel regret that things are finally coming back around to bite him in the ass.

But now is no time for regrets, and he steels his resolve before instructing quietly, "Back me up against the wall next to the dresser."

"Wha—"

"Room's bugged," Cloud says, words a careful, near-inaudible puff of air. "Sorry, I needed you to stop talking and this was the least suspicious—can't read lips like this—"

" … I see," Sephiroth finally answers in the same voiceless manner, and Cloud represses a shiver at the way his breath brushes hot against his own lips even as he moves to comply with Cloud’s request. They move in tandem, matching each other step for step as easily as breathing, like a battle. Like a dance.

“A—a little more to the right,” he says quickly, before he can linger too long on that thought. "The angle—you'll block both of us off from view, you're tall—"

His back hits the wall, Sephiroth’s arms caging him in on either side. Sephiroth leans in, silver hair falling like a curtain over the two of them, and Cloud finally relaxes, letting his hands slide down from their tight grip on Sephiroth’s collar.

“This should be good enough. Ah—” He balks as Sephiroth’s knee slides between his legs, pinning him further in place.

“Simply making it more believable,” Sephiroth says, unruffled. “That is the point of this, correct? To make our Turk eavesdroppers believe we are currently… otherwise engaged?”

Cloud immediately sobers. “It’s more than just the Turks listening in.”

“The Science Department,” Sephiroth says after a beat. “Along with our esteemed President and Director Lazard, of course. I see.”

Cloud hums in affirmation. “I think we’ve sold the act, though. You can leave, and—”

“No,” Sephiroth says, immovable for all that he carefully keeps his voice too low to be recorded. His eyes gleam with a fierce, determined light. “I’m not leaving. I rather like this position we have here—I have you right where I want you, and lest you forget, our previous encounters have shown very well that in terms of brute strength, it isn’t you who comes out on top. This time, Cloud, you aren’t going anywhere until you answer all my questions. Every single one of them.”

Cloud resists the urge to swallow hard, heart beating out a rapid tempo in his chest, and he’s suddenly very aware of the press of Sephiroth’s legs against his own, his arms framing either side of his face, the closeness of their chests. Trapped with his back to a wall by his mortal enemy—

But no. This Sephiroth is different, he reminds himself. That’s why he’d been willing to suggest this position. That’s why he’s even here in the first place.

So Cloud concedes. As he always does when it comes to Sephiroth.

“I can’t—” His voice falters, and he licks his dry lips. “I can’t promise that I can tell you everything. But I’ll try my best.”

For a moment, Sephiroth looks impossibly frustrated. Then he shuts his eyes, and tension that Cloud hadn’t even noticed bleeds out of his shoulders as he makes a concession of his own. “That is all I could ever ask of you. That you try your best.”

Cloud studies Sephiroth for a long while. The _other_ Sephiroth would have never conceded anything to Cloud, would have been much too proud to ever lower himself to the level of a mere puppet, and that act in itself has Cloud cupping Sephiroth’s cheek like he used to, so long ago.

Sephiroth’s eyes snap open, something unreadable in his expression as he stares down at Cloud.

Cloud carefully tucks a strand of Sephiroth’s bangs behind his ear, a silent promise. Then, he asks, “What do you want to know?”

-

“I can’t believe we got stuck with _babysitting_ duty, yo.” Reno leans back dangerously far in his chair as he idly watches the screens in front of him. The two figures in the room displayed seem to be just talking, and their voices are a distant, static buzz beneath Reno’s complaints.

Beside him, Rude says nothing as usual, but he pushes his shades up and radiates disapproval nonetheless.

“I know, I know, it’s ‘important security detail’.” Reno waves a hand in the air mockingly. “At least we’re just stuck in here and not sneaking around out there, yo. Makes for easy work. Sounds like Zack-o boy is just…” He pauses, listening to the muffled conversation, then continues, “Fanboying over pretty boy’s sword, eh? _Nice.”_ He snickers at his own innuendo.

Another beat, and he does a bored spin in his chair. Then a knock sounds over the recording, and Reno jolts upright in his chair as a third figure enters the room. “Wait, holy shit, is that—?”

“Sephiroth,” Rude confirms, his posture even straighter than before.

“What’s he doing here?" Reno asks, even as the man on screen stiffly explains his reasons for coming. "That can't be all. Sure, he seemed kinda into pretty boy, but to barge into their _room—”_

 _“Third Class Fair,”_ Sephiroth says, loud and clear. _“Dismissed.”_

“Ohhhh shit,” Reno says. Then, after Cloud persuades Zack to leave the room, he says again, “Oh _shit.”_

 _“I wanted to at least do this for you,”_ Sephiroth says. _“Your sword was… important to you. Back then.”_

“The fuck does that mean, yo?” Reno says loudly. “They knew each other or what?”

Rude shushes him, and they both strain to catch the last part of Cloud’s answer.

_“—shouldn’t be having this conversation right now—”_

“Trouble in paradise, you think?” Reno whispers, and Rude shushes him again.

_“—time I try to speak to you, we are interrupted. So no, we are going to talk about this. Here and now. I knew your story for ShinRa would not line up completely with what little I—”_

_“Sephiroth.”_

“Damn, he interrupted right at the most important— _oh shit.”_ Even with slight noise these screens have, there’s no mistaking the lack of distance between the two figures’ faces. “Holy fuck _,_ is that a—are they—”

Even Rude takes a few tries, clearing his throat three times before saying, “Kissing. They’re kissing.”

Whatever the two are saying, now, it’s much too quiet for the bug's microphone to pick up, so Reno has zero qualms about throwing his hands up and exclaiming, “Well fuck me with a cactuar! That sure explains why he was so fussed about letting him take a nap in the ‘copter, yo!”

“Should we… be watching this?” Rude asks as Sephiroth backs the two of them into a wall.

Reno shrugs and leans back in his chair again, resting his head against his folded arms. All they can see now is Sephiroth’s back, the man more than large enough to obscure his companion completely, so unless pants and that ridiculous coat start coming off, he doesn’t see why they have any reason to be embarrassed. “Seems like prime soap material to me, yo. 'Sides, even if they start whippin’ their dicks out, I don’t see Tseng not chewing us out for abandoning our posts or whatever. Besides, you know what we got here, partner?”

Behind the frames of his shades, Rude's eyebrows raise questioningly.

A shit-eating grin spreads slow and wide across Reno's face, smug as a cat that’s gotten the cream. He leans forward and says, "Fresh meat for the ShinRa rumor mill."

-

"How much," Sephiroth begins, "of what you told the President and Lazard was true?"

Cloud huffs a weak laugh, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall behind him. "Starting right away with the hard questions, huh…"

"We can break it down, then," Sephiroth says, jaw clenched in the exact same stubborn way he had when he'd been young. "Your friends who are well-versed in sustainable energies. The experimentation. The escape you described with your friend—"

"All true," Cloud says, soft and sad. "Everything I said happened, just… in a different life, I guess."

"In other words, before you were Cloud Strife," Sephiroth says, watching Cloud carefully. “Before you were human.”

Cloud shakes his head. For all that his mental state and biology have both changed throughout his life— “I’m Cloud Strife. Human. Always have been.” His friends had taught him that well; to say anything otherwise would be a betrayal.

"Long before we met, then. Of course…” Sephiroth sounds almost self-reprimanding as he murmurs, “I knew you'd suffered under the hands of a scientist before, you as good as confirmed it yourself—although my five-year-old mind somehow misinterpreted as Hojo, which I admit now in hindsight was utterly foolish—"

"No," Cloud says. "It was Hojo." And he knows the way he instinctively spits the man's name like poison is a more than enough proof of his truthfulness.

Sephiroth's brow creases. "But how—?"

Cloud meets Sephiroth's gaze head-on, jaw set. He's promised to tell Sephiroth the truth; Sephiroth _deserves_ the truth. So— "I know it's… hard to believe. But I'm from the future. I came back to stop the end of the world."

Sephiroth is silent for a long, tense moment. Then, he says, "I did not lie when I said I trust you. I do. But how— _why—"_

Cloud shakes his head. "I can't say too much. But… I had things I had to do. Still do. Which is why these past few months…" He trails off, trying to read Sephiroth's inscrutable expression.

" … I understand. Knowledge of the future… is not something that can be divulged without repercussions. And it explains many things. The thing you were searching for and destroyed, all those years ago. Your intervention with Genesis and the issue of our degradation. Your campaign to end mako reactors. Your secretiveness about your identity, your seemingly erratic actions, your lack of communication—"

"No, it still doesn't excuse… well, lots of things. I'm sorry. For keeping all these secrets. For still keeping so many. But most of all for leaving you, back then."

Something angry flickers in Sephiroth's eyes. "You said yourself you _died,_ Cloud. That is the last thing you should be apologizing for."

"It was around when I was born, the first time around. I wouldn’t have been able to delay leaving any longer either way. But I told myself—well, you were six." Cloud's mouth twists ruefully. "I still don't know if it would have been better if I'd told you or not."

"That explains your initial lack of physical form. But the series of events that led to your… disappearance—those were orchestrated by Hojo, were they not?"

"He used… what I was looking for as bait. At least it let me get rid of her." The one useful thing Hojo has ever done, in Cloud's opinion. “But maybe if I’d said something to you…”

"I never blamed you for anything that happened back then, Cloud. If anything, I—" Sephiroth cuts himself off. After a pause, he says, "I simply… Why didn't you say anything for all this time? I was—I didn't…"

"If it makes you feel any better," Cloud says dryly, "I didn't exactly _remember_ things until about half a year ago."

"In Wutai?"

"In Wutai," Cloud confirms. Remembering Sephiroth's outburst in Junon, the plea of _why Zack, why Genesis, why not me,_ he adds, "After that… I just happened to be in the area when I ran into Zack. It was my fault he went into the marshes—I couldn’t just let him die. And Genesis was… for other reasons.”

“But you… you still sought him out. And you never…” Sephiroth doesn’t finish his sentence, but he suddenly looks very small, young, and realization dawns that maybe Genesis’s statement that _Sephiroth's gone half-mad looking for you, you know_ had been the truth rather than one of the man’s usual theatrical embellishments.

“You know I can… change,” Cloud says slowly as he tries to think of the best way to explain. “Between, uh, _this_ me and what I… used to look like. But I still need to actually be there. I was on the run that night. I couldn't stay longer than I had to.”

Sephiroth frowns. “But… that day in Wutai, you said you weren’t physically present. I know now that you were the one in Turk custody, but I still assumed that your visit to Genesis was something similar, particularly considering the risks with ShinRa security.”

Cloud shakes his head. “That was the exception—when you called me. I still don't know how." He carefully avoids mentioning that he knows very well _why_ it was Sephiroth who was the exception.

(Sephiroth is always the exception.)

Sephiroth reads him anyways. "You're worried about it."

" … I am." The admission falls cold and heavy from his lips. But Sephiroth still doesn’t know the extent of Cloud’s worry; Cloud can’t risk giving him any more information on JENOVA than he already has, not when he still isn’t sure how JENOVA still exerts her influence when she should be _dead._

"You were hurt that day," Sephiroth says, and Cloud tries not to think too hard about the dark edge to his voice. "We'll figure it out. Together."

Cloud blinks, startled. The man's words come out confident, commanding, as if there were no other option imaginable. Sephiroth as an ally is a far better outcome than he ever could have expected, though, so all Cloud says is, "Okay. Together."

"I have… one more question," Sephiroth says carefully. At Cloud's answering nod, he continues, "Back then, the thing you were looking for… you said she was evil. That she would—manipulate me, and use me to hurt others."

Cloud's eyes widen. "You remember—?"

"It may have been long ago, but I remember much of our time together, yes.” Slowly, almost painfully, he admits, “Perhaps you may not have felt the same, but it was… important to me.”

"No!" Cloud objects immediately. "It was important to me too, I just—"

But he falls silent. How is he supposed to explain how he still sees old ghosts in Sephiroth's face, how the way Sephiroth moves makes him instinctively reach for his sword, how the prickle of sensation in his mind and skin and blood when Sephiroth is nearby makes him want to both fall to his knees and run him through all at once?

“ … It’s all right,” Sephiroth says, although it sounds very much not all right. “I understand. The things you said back then, the way you act now—Cloud, was I… somehow involved in this future you aim to prevent?”

Cloud’s breath catches in his throat and sticks there. “I—I…” He averts his eyes, staring down at the floor. He doesn’t want to watch Sephiroth’s face. Not now. “Am I really that easy to read?” he jokes weakly.

There’s a pause, and suddenly Cloud finds himself pulled flush against Sephiroth’s chest, the man’s arms clutched tight and fierce around his back. Sephiroth’s murmured words ruffle the spikes of Cloud’s hair as he says, “I told myself—those scars you have, no matter their distinctive shape and size… they had to be inflicted by someone else. Because how could I ever have— _why_ would I ever… But then you spoke of time travel. And suddenly, I…”

Cloud shakes his head, face still pressed into the crook of Sephiroth’s shoulder. “The future isn’t set in stone. Things are already changing.”

“But—”

“Things will be different,” Cloud vows, and he wraps his arms around Sephiroth in turn. “I promise.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry for the long update times the past two months have been lowkey shitty, i didnt edit this but i have abt -11 spoons rn so if theres something just ragingly wrong just yell at me or smth i'll attempt to fix it
> 
> but hey extra long chapter so bonus ig? literally nothing happens bc these two dumb bastards just wanted to keep talking and playing gay chicken w their fake relationship but fuck it it's all about the emotional longing and TENSION
> 
> (stuff picks up next time tho i promise orz)

The two of them stay like that for a long time, arms wrapped around each other's backs, Cloud's head tucked into the crook of Sephiroth's neck.

Sephiroth's embrace is warmer than Cloud expected, softer than Cloud expected. He picks out the faint smell of smoke and leather and sword polish, with the sharp tang of mako underlying it all. The mako is the same as all those years ago, but less—sterile, almost, as if the empty, white sanitation of the labs has finally bled out of Sephiroth's person and left room for what Cloud assumes is his natural scent, something bitter and dark. The texture of his hair tickling Cloud's face is the same, too, but now it's longer, sleeker, winds itself around Cloud's shoulders and arms and hands.

It's peaceful like this. Far more than Cloud ever could have expected, with Sephiroth surrounding him on all sides, and yet he ironically feels—safe. Protected.

Then he realizes, "Zack's waiting."

Sephiroth makes a questioning noise, muffled against the top of Cloud's head.

"He said he'd wait for me to go get him," Cloud clarifies. "It's been a while. I should—"

"I will go with you," Sephiroth says quickly. He doesn't add any further explanation, but Cloud isn't as bothered by his apparent clinginess as he thinks he would have been if not for their earlier talk. It’s almost… reassuring, in a way, to know that this Sephiroth values his memories from their past so highly. It makes Cloud hope he might really be changing things for the better, at least for Sephiroth personally, and isn’t that practically the point of this entire thing—?

So all he does is nod as Sephiroth straightens from his position to let Cloud away from the wall. His back twinges as he shifts, a not-so-subtle reminder that the throbbing too-tight pain that comes with keeping his wings tucked away for too long is soon to follow.

Being on the run had afforded less time than he’d like to have them out, especially when he and Vincent had been scouting a new location. He’d usually gone for a week or so without letting his wings out before spend the day or two after disabling a reactor relaxing in the middle of nowhere with no witnesses, but that routine has obviously been subverted, now, and Cloud gives it two days, maybe less before the pain really starts kicking in. It's just another item on the long list of problems he’ll have to figure out how to deal with, now that he knows he’ll be sharing a bathroom with three other teenagers. He’d coped fine while under constant surveillance in Turk custody with his camera-blocking trick, of course, but it still isn’t an experience he’d like to repeat, especially with a situation he’s sure will last much longer than the month he’d spent in that room.

The reminder of his own wings has him wondering if the three Firsts will ever get theirs, this time around. Genesis’s and Angeal’s had seemed to be a result of their degradation, which has now been hopefully cured, and Cloud honestly isn’t sure when Sephiroth had gotten his. He remembers flashes of conversations about wings—wings and monsters and angels, and underneath it all, the price of freedom. Zack had once called them angel's wings, a lifetime ago, but even he'd lost his relentless optimism when faced with the bloodchilling truth.

 _SOLDIER is a den of monsters,_ Zack says again in Cloud's memory, solemn and desperate all at once, unwilling to believe it yet already knowing it to be true. But if Cloud can change how they all look at things—Zack, Angeal, Genesis, Sephiroth, _everyone—_

 _(Angels dream of one thing,_ declares an angry voice from a stolen memory. _To be human._

 _Can't you see?_ Cloud answers silently. _You already are.)_

-

Zack prods impatiently at his tray of half-eaten food, watching the unclaimed tray opposite his seat steadily cool. Maybe it’s strange to be so worried about what his commanding officer wants with an essential stranger, but Cloud saved his life, and he’d seemed so on edge when Sephiroth had approached—

"Hey," says a voice behind him, and he turns to see a familiar helmeted face standing behind him. "This seat open?"

"Kunsel!" Zack greets the Second enthusiastically.

Kunsel is one of the few people Zack can freely call a close friend. Zack is friendly with everyone, of course, but he can count the number of people he feels like he's formed a genuine emotional connection with on one hand. Everyone else is just too…

Too competitive, maybe, in regards to getting into SOLDIER and rising in the program's ranks, or too impersonal simply by nature of being in an army of ever-shifting ranks, or—well, Zack doesn't know, really, and in many ways he thinks he doesn't want to know, doesn't want to understand how so many people can look at others and see chess pieces to be used, or stepping stones to improve their own status, or competition to be ruthlessly defeated.

But Kunsel is different. He's been a Second for longer than Zack's been in SOLDIER, and seems content with where he is. After all, as a Second, he's afforded some measure of freedom with anonymity the status of a First wouldn't allow, and to Kunsel, that level of discretion is necessary for the information-gathering he so enjoys.

And true to his nature, Kunsel leans in close as soon as he sits down and says, "So I hear you've been assigned to be our unexpected new recruit's roommate."

Zack gives him a rueful grin. "Back for more info? I'm telling you, I don't know much more than what I told you about the Zolom way back when."

“Nothing, huh.” Kunsel sounds doubtful.

“Really! Sure, I got to talk to him a bit on our way back to the room, but Sephiroth came in and kicked me out like two minutes after we got there…”

Kunsel pauses. “Sephiroth did? To talk to the new guy?”

“Yeah!” Zack throws his arms up in the air. “Wild, isn’t it? I get it, he outranks me by a ton, but—is that even allowed? He could’ve just ordered Cloud to meet him somewhere, he outranks him too—”

"So you're saying," Kunsel says again, leaning in even closer to not be overheard, "that _the_ Sephiroth just—kicked you out? Out of your own room? Just like that?"

Zack groans and leans back, almost falling off the bench. "That's what I _said,_ isn't it? What d'ya think he even wanted with Cloud?"

"What exactly was so urgent that he absolutely had to speak to him in private at that moment, you mean?" Kunsel says. "Who knows? But just between you and me, you know, there’ve been rumors floating around about what went on in that helicopter ride on the way here. Heard it from the infantrymen there myself. Get this, _Sephiroth_ of all people—"

He's interrupted by a light pinging from his PHS, the notification sound for a new message. As he reads it, a slow, creeping grin winds itself across his face, all the more ominous for how its upper half is obscured by his helmet. "Oh boy, Zack," Kunsel says. "You're _definitely_ gonna want to read this."

Zack's resulting yell is more than loud enough to be heard even outside the doors of the mess hall.

"THEY DID _WHAT?!"_

-

Halfway to the SOLDIER mess, it occurs to Cloud that maybe having Sephiroth looming over his shoulder all the time might not be such a good idea for multiple reasons. For one, with surveillance presumably around every corner, having to figure out how to subtly tell him to fuck off in kinder words whenever Cloud might need to do something alone will be a huge hassle, and he doesn’t want to limit himself to only sneaking around at night. For another, while the Turks know that Cloud is here for no reason other than ShinRa’s own desires, the rest of the public don’t, and Cloud really doesn’t want to have to deal with sexually inclined rumors about how he got his new position without taking the official steps.

So he turns to the man trailing a few steps behind him and warns, "Just so you know, it'll be weird if you stick around too much."

Sephiroth cocks his head. "But the Turks…"

Cloud knows what he wants to say; the Turks—and anyone else who gets their hands on their tapes—will already know of their supposed relations, and acting like they do or don't know each other will change nothing about that. Not that Cloud believes for a minute that the Turks—and by default ShinRa—hadn't already known he and Sephiroth somehow share history. Sephiroth's erratic behavior is more than enough proof, and Cloud's never been a very good actor besides. But acting as indifferent as they can to one another will imply they're trying to hide a relationship, which in turn implies they're still clueless to the company's surveillance. Not to mention—

"Our personal lives aren't the rest of ShinRa's business," Cloud says dryly, and he'd most definitely like to keep it that way. "Besides, what's a booty call or two after an intense spar?"

A pained crease forms in Sephiroth's brow. "Please do not label our… interactions as such."

Cloud huffs a laugh. "Fine. Either way, it doesn't have to _mean_ anything, you know? Emotionally speaking."

If they can pass it off as a purely sexual relationship, then maybe ShinRa won't have as much incentive to use one as leverage against the other. It is, of course, only applicable in a scenario where things devolve enough for that, but Cloud doesn't have high hopes. It's best to plan for as many contingencies as possible.

"I don't…" Sephiroth pauses. "You mean. What we just did. It does not mean anything."

"I meant everything I said," Cloud reassures. "Just—uh. You know. The kiss. That was…" Just a show for the Turks, one that works even better if they put on another show of acting like it didn't happen, and a result of extenuating circumstances besides— "An emergency," he finishes lamely, then immediately smacks himself internally.

 _Good fucking job,_ he berates himself. _What kind of emergency are the Turks gonna assume now? A hormonal one?_

"I see," Sephiroth says slowly. "You mean… you would like anything that took place between us that might be construed as romantic or sexual to remain discreet so as to not affect our working relationship."

"Yes," Cloud says, relieved that Sephiroth has finally received his message. Then, just in case, he adds, "Especially in public."

"Especially in public," Sephiroth repeats, nodding to himself, and gods, when has Cloud's life started stealing lines from a run-of-the-mill workplace romcom—? "There might be… one or two issues with that approach."

" … One or two?" That doesn't sound good.

"Several, in fact," Sephiroth amends, as if that gives Cloud any better idea of what he means. "You see, ShinRa tends to—"

He's interrupted by a loud yell, muffled from behind the walls it pierces.

"THEY DID _WHAT?"_

Cloud’s head snaps up. “That’s Zack!”

Sephiroth’s hand falls to rest against the small of Cloud’s back, and Cloud flinches hard before he can register that it’s likely meant as a gesture of comfort rather than intent to harm. The hand immediately withdraws.

“ … My apologies,” Sephiroth says quietly. Before Cloud can stammer a poorly-worded explanation that Sephiroth surely already knows, he continues, “SOLDIER Third Class Fair is often described as… robust and outgoing in reports. I doubt his exclamation is any cause for concern.”

Cloud takes a steadying breath, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know, it’s just…”

It’s just that it’s Zack, and Cloud can no more stop himself from worrying about him than he can stop breathing, even though he knows very well that Zack can take care of himself, that the only reason Zack hadn’t been able to do so before had been because of Cloud.

Sephiroth watches Cloud carefully, but says nothing. Instead, he simply gestures towards the shut double-doors in front of them as if to say _after you,_ and Cloud grimaces as he moves to comply, bracing himself for the dramatic scene that's sure to follow.

Sure enough, the moment the tall silver-haired man steps into the mess hall behind Cloud, silence ripples through the crowd as people notice his conspicuous presence one by one like dominoes. Hushed whispers break out, far too many to distinguish what is being said even with enhanced hearing, and Cloud represses a sigh. Even though he’d used their fanclubs to gather information, he’d still forgotten just how much ShinRa treats its SOLDIERs more as celebrities than people, weaponizing their fame just as much as they weaponize their skills on the battlefield.

He doesn’t look back at Sephiroth, instead making a beeline for where he sees a familiar head of dark, spiky hair near the center of the large hall, and Zack looks up at him with a faintly surprised expression.

“Cloud!”

Cloud nods in greeting. “Zack.”

For a moment, Zack scrutinizes him, an unreadable look flashing across his face. Then it vanishes into a grin so quickly that if he hadn’t known Zack better, Cloud could have thought he’d imagined it. “I saved you food!” Zack says, gesturing at the still-full tray opposite him. “It’s kinda cold now, but it’s past serving hours, so better than nothing, yeah?”

“ … Thanks,” Cloud says, unsurprised when Sephiroth slides into the spot next to him before he can even finish sitting down. There are some battles he’d rather not waste energy fighting, though, so he just picks up his fork and prods at the mess of soggy corn and mashed potatoes on his plate.

“Yo.” The helmeted man seated next to Zack gives him a brief wave, and Cloud gets the impression that he’s being analyzed from underneath the helmet. He looks vaguely familiar, but Cloud can’t quite place him; possibly one of Zack’s or even his own friends from a time long past. “So _you’re_ Cloud, huh.”

Cloud isn’t quite sure how to react to that particular tone of voice. “Yeah?”

"Oh, this is Kunsel, by the way," Zack introduces. "And Kuns, yeah, this is Cloud…" He sounds like he might want to say more, but doesn't, and Cloud resists the urge to shift uncomfortably.

"Nice to meet ya," Kunsel says, and there's something distinctly predatory about the grin that spreads across his face. He also looks like he might want to add more, but Cloud gets the distinct feeling that with Sephiroth still hovering over his shoulder, there’s a lot to be said that isn’t going to be.

"Nice to… meet you too," Cloud answers, still wary.

“So, uh,” Zack starts, and this already doesn’t sound good if even Zack is being awkward and hesitant. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to hang out with me and Kunsel tomorrow for lunch, since we’re roomies and all, y’know, and.” He falls silent suddenly, wide-eyed as he looks over Cloud’s shoulder at Sephiroth, but when Cloud sneaks a glance, Sephiroth looks as coldly impassive as ever.

“And?” Cloud prompts.

“Just—just to like… get to know each other better!” Zack says quickly. “Nothing—weird or anything like that. But uh.” He gives Sephiroth another wide-eyed look. “I guess that’s a no? At least on—Sephiroth’s end.”

Cloud gives Sephiroth another look, too, and the man blinks placidly back down at him. “Sephiroth’s not my assigned watchdog,” Cloud points out, “you are. We don’t need his permission.”

“Right!” Zack says, nodding to himself. “Right, haha, it’s not like you need his permission, that wouldn't be—"

Beside him, Kunsel elbows him in the ribs and hisses, "Zack!"

Before he can add more, though, the heavy mess hall doors slam open, and a familiar red-coated man bursts in.

"Sephiroth!" Genesis's eyes rove over the crowd before finally landing on Sephiroth's distinctive silver head poking far above everyone else. "There you are! I was told you'd might be here."

Sephiroth just looks mildly irritated, the space between his brows pinching inward ever so slightly. "Genesis," he acknowledges.

"Well?" Genesis demands the moment he gets close enough, lowering his voice by only a token amount. "Is it true?"

"Do I want to know?" Sephiroth says, but he already looks resigned to find out.

"What everyone's been saying about you two, of course!" Genesis looks all too delighted to spell it out for them. "There are rumors abound of you pinning Cloud in the helicopter and wildly confessing your love before threatening to dismember the onlookers for staring. Now, I'm sure there are a few exaggerations here and there, but—"

"Sir," Kunsel says, expression all the more ominously gleeful for the helmet obscuring half his face, "I have it on good authority that it happened in Zack's bedroom."

A look of sheer surprise crosses Genesis's face briefly before it breaks into an ominous grin of his own. "Sephiroth, you utter _dog!"_

Whispers break out across the cafeteria at Kunsel's confirmation, because of course everyone was listening in, and Cloud grimaces.

"Look," he says, "there must've been some kind of misunderstanding. Sephiroth and I aren't—"

"Sorry, man," Kunsel says in an irritatingly affable manner, "but you can't fight the footage. All bets on whether you two are involved or not are already off, although there is one for how casual it is or isn't, ranging from 'rivals with benefits' to 'hatefucking' to 'star-crossed lovers', if you'd like to help us all out and make someone a very happy winner of twelve thousand gil—"

"We're _not,"_ Cloud insists. "Involved, that is."

"Hey, look, I get that it probably bothers you—you seem like the private type," Kunsel says, lowering his voice, “and I’m sorry, but this is just how things at ShinRa work. People need drama to spice up their mundane everyday lives once in a while, you know? And they don’t really care about the people in question. Whether these rumors are true or not, it’s all up to how you deal with it, and trust me, the more you deny it, the more you’ll be eaten alive. If you just go with the flow and treat it as normal, I guarantee the rumors’ll die down in a week.” He pauses. “Well, maybe a month. A few months. Rumors involving Sephiroth are supreme currency, you see.”

Cloud takes a deep breath, counts down from ten, then does it again when he doesn’t feel any better. Then he drags a weary hand down his face and says emphatically, _“Fuck.”_

Sephiroth frowns. "Is it truly so bad, to be seen as in a relationship with me?”

“Well, yeah,” Cloud says, and the crease in Sephiroth’s brow pinches further. “What—it’s not like you’d want to be seen as in a relationship with _me—”_

Sephiroth cocks his head, looking genuinely confused. “Why not?”

The man’s innocuous question has Cloud’s thought process screeching to a halt. He’d just automatically assumed that it’d be an inconvenience, that of course Sephiroth would rather be seen as uninvolved if possible, without all the extra drama and implications considering his reputation, but—

“I mean,” Cloud says, fumbling for an answer as he gestures vaguely, “for… obvious reasons?”

These reasons don't seem to be obvious to Sephiroth, though, because he just says,“Cloud, perhaps we should speak in private."

More hushed whispers erupt around them, and Cloud winces. “ … Again?”

“Yes, again, so you can specify your… obvious reasons,” Sephiroth says, clearly not willing to let this drop.

Cloud’s shoulders slump as he relents. “Fine.”

-

"I just realized,” Zack says slowly, watching Cloud trail after Sephiroth out of the hall like a lost chocobo, “but… how did the person who texted you even know what happened in my room? They were the only two in there, and even you didn’t know that they were there until I told you.”

Kunsel shrugs. "There are cameras in the Slums. You think they don't monitor everywhere inside the tower, too? ShinRa's got eyes and ears all over. I just tap into the network.”

“Sure, they’ve got cams in the slums for crime reasons. And I get if they’ve got ‘em in the halls and stuff here too for security, but in our rooms? Isn’t that like, an invasion of privacy or whatever? Who even has the time to watch all that shit?”

Kunsel eyes him for a while, then sighs. “Zack, you’re way too naive.”

“Hey!” Zack sputters. “The hell’s that supposed to mean? How do you even know all this?”

“Never mind all that,” Kunsel says, waving a hand. "It's usually the Turks who sift through all the info, sort out what's good and what's bad and what's a threat to the company. I just happen to have connections to people who work in that area, and ShinRa turns a blind eye. What's a little harmless rumormongering in the grand scheme of things, right?"

Zack slumps against the table, resting his chin on his hand. “I just don’t get you sometimes, man…”

After all, ShinRa spying on its own employees? Why would they ever need to do that?

(And yet, some part of Zack can’t help but wonder if it has anything to do with Cloud’s strange agenda.)

-

They take the first elevator all the way up to the 59th floor, which, if Cloud remembers correctly, is the highest the standard elevators go. The next elevator is one of glass, opening to a view of the city below them. Seeing Midgar spread out in its entirety like this, incongruous with the mental image he retains from the future, has Cloud feeling dizzy, and he has to turn away as his vision doubles, Midgar’s shattered ruins layering over the proud, green-fogged cityscape of the present.

Sephiroth scans his key card, pressing the upwards-pointing arrow, and a single light above the numbered panel lights up. The panel itself only goes up to 64; Cloud occupies himself by counting the floors as they ascend, all the way up to floor 69. It’s one of ShinRa’s floors with the highest clearance, he knows, and he blinks, confused, as the elevator opens to a clean, almost posh-looking carpeted hallway. He’d thought—the majority of the topmost floors serve as a small fraction of Hojo’s labs, he knows, and for a moment he’d almost expected—

“This floor exclusively houses SOLDIER Firsts and ShinRa executives,” Sephiroth explains. “Any employee with a lower rank, even a Turk, would have difficulty accessing it. Each apartment,” he continues before Cloud can open his mouth and ask if Sephiroth is really _sure_ about that, “is keyed directly to an individual’s card. As such, I cannot enter, for example, Genesis or Angeal’s apartments without their card, and vice versa. We should be able to find our privacy in my own rooms.”

Cloud hums a tad skeptically, but when Sephiroth lets them into his apartment and raises a questioning brow, Cloud has to concede. As he scans what he assumes to be the kitchen, taking in the minimalistic grayscale decor, he can't detect any sort of devices that might be listening in on them. Honestly, he's rather surprised; he wouldn’t put it past Hojo to want to keep an eye on his prize experiment twenty-four seven. But, he notes as he runs a finger over the chrome-colored counter, picking up just enough dust to be noticeable, it doesn’t seem like anyone has used at least the kitchen in quite a while.

Sephiroth nods towards Cloud’s dusty fingertip. “I come here very infrequently. When I am not deployed in Wutai, I am occupied in my office with mission assignments and paperwork.”

In other words, there never is anything of note to record in Sephiroth’s apartment. Nowhere near enough to merit the effort of getting the proper clearance to break in and plant anything, at least. And the way the room feels empty despite being fully furnished, all sharp angles and completely devoid of any signs of being lived in, is telltale enough.

Sephiroth seems to have learned well from their previous encounter, though, and wraps an arm around Cloud’s waist. When Cloud doesn’t tense up, Sephiroth takes it as permission to pull him close, murmuring against his ear, “Well? Do you detect anything?”

Cloud shakes his head. “Do you? It’s a high-pitched noise, kinda in between a buzz and a whine—”

Sephiroth takes a moment to listen on his own, but shakes his head as well. Upon Sephiroth's own confirmation, Cloud tries to tug away, but Sephiroth doesn’t let go. Instead, he shifts Cloud to face him in something that might be compared to a twirl, and Cloud is forced to meet his eyes, blue on green.

"Why are you so opposed to being seen as in a relationship with me by the public?" he asks again.

“Well, at first, before… everything,” Cloud says slowly, “I figured that if we acted like we were trying to cover up a relationship, then it’d tell the Turks we didn’t know they saw everything already on the cameras.”

“Resulting in the Turks believing we were clueless to their monitoring,” Sephiroth finishes. “I see. But it’s a moot point now; the rumors have made it quite evident that they _were_ listening in.”

“Yeah,” Cloud says with a sigh. “Too bad. Gods, I guess my head was too far up my ass to notice the rumor mill was this bad back when I…"

He trails off, unsure of whether he should continue or not, but Sephiroth picks up what he doesn't say easily. "When you were in ShinRa previously? It does stand to reason, considering your experiences with Hojo… As a SOLDIER, perhaps? You must have been, to stand on equal footing with me—"

Cloud snorts. "Nothing fancy. I was a trooper. Wasn't worth anyone's time, SOLDIER program or rumor mill or otherwise."

"Then, how…" Sephiroth looks endlessly curious. Cloud appreciates how he clearly halts himself from asking further, but he isn't ashamed of this part of his past. Not anymore.

So he answers, "I wasn't mako-enhanced when I… stopped you the first time around. I know," he adds in response to the flash of incredulity that crosses Sephiroth's face. "Hojo didn't believe it either. That's why he thought I'd make an _interesting_ test subject. He was wrong, of course; I'd just gotten a lucky shot in. As for the other Sephiroth—he kept coming back. So we all kept getting stronger because we had to. And… well, here we are now."

“Here we are now,” Sephiroth echoes. He looks like he desperately wants to ask more, but all he says is, “And… how are we to proceed from here? I imagine you have most of your goals fairly well in hand, considering your deal with the esteemed president, but now that we find ourselves in this situation, it would be easier to simply go along with things until the rumors die down. But since you seem unwilling…”

“I mean, to me, you seem pretty unbothered by the whole… rumor thing.”

“I fail to see why I should be,” Sephiroth points out calmly.

“Well, _I_ fail to see why you _aren’t,”_ Cloud snarks back. “We’re both private people—I doubt it’s fun for you either, having people be nosy about your love life. Besides, isn’t it bad for your reputation or whatever? To be seen fucking some nobody a lower rank than you, not to mention how ShinRa PR likes to make you some kinda paragon of an eligible bachelor—”

“These are all assumptions you are making about my own position on this topic. The public has always speculated on my private life regardless, and I care not what image ShinRa prefers to cultivate. Now you know I have no objections; I want to hear why _you_ don’t want it, Cloud.”

Cloud balks. The concept of Sephiroth wanting Cloud to share his own thoughts— _caring_ to hear out Cloud’s thoughts at all, when he’d always simply overridden anything Cloud might have wanted—

But that’s unfair to this Sephiroth. Cloud _knows_ this.

“I guess,” he says hesitantly, “I don’t want to deal with people—assuming things about how I got this rank so quickly. People asking about—you, us, whatever, and having to make things up. All the attention…” Just the thought of all the attention the position of _Sephiroth’s boyfriend_ would elicit has Cloud wincing.

“I see,” Sephiroth says after a moment. “I would prefer to respect your wishes to declare ourselves uninvolved, but it’s already too late to prevent—all this, and as Second Class Kunsel pointed out, to deny allegations when there is hard evidence would simply exacerbate the issue. I suppose nondisclosure would be the best approach, if these are your reservations. Let them assume what they want until the rumors die out. Any mention of sexual favors will easily be waylaid by a display of your ability. I understand the _attention_ will be irritating at best, but I have no doubt that you will also be able to easily deal with any true harassment. Regardless, no matter what we say or do, the public will still…”

“They’ll still be assholes about it, I get it,” Cloud says with a sigh. “I know there’s no easy way out. I’m just frustrated.”

“But I—we will be able work with this,” Sephiroth says. “If it had been a more personal matter of distaste towards me…”

Cloud can’t help it; he huffs a laugh. “You thought I had a problem with it because of you? If we’re talking about judging dating choices, here, I’d definitely be the worse one.”

Sephiroth tilts his head. “I fail to understand. I see no issue with you, but I assumed that maybe—I imagine it can’t be pleasant, being forced to be seen as intimate with someone who has… grievously wounded you several times.”

Cloud frowns, humor forgotten. “That wasn’t you,” he says, and he finds himself pressing a hand to Sephiroth’s chest to feel for the gentle _thud-thud-thud_ of Sephiroth’s heartbeat. The other Sephiroth hadn’t had one, after falling into mako, and eventually hadn’t had any blood to bleed, either; he’d ascended past the need for it, more a shade than anything else. Perhaps it should ring some alarm bells, the fact that Cloud is starting to find this sort of skin-to-skin contact with Sephiroth more comforting than terrifying, but it seems to steady Sephiroth as well, and for now, that is enough.

“Wasn’t it?” Sephiroth murmurs. “I know it is in no way intentional, but sometimes, when you look at me…”

“I know,” Cloud says. He’d just done it, after all. “And I’m sorry. But you’re the boy I found alone in the labs. You’re the man who spent the past half year looking for me. You’re not the—” Cloud chokes on the word _god,_ swallows it down like a hard stone. “—the monster who tried to end the world. Not yet. And if I have anything to say about it, you never will be.”

Sephiroth is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Each time I hear something new of this future of yours, I truly wonder…”

“What went wrong?” Cloud’s mouth quirks up into an ironic smirk. “Everything, really.”

“No,” Sephiroth admits, slow and heavy. “No, I could imagine myself burning the world down, if given enough reason. Perhaps—perhaps this already makes me the monster you speak of.” He holds up a hand before Cloud can protest. “My biology bothers me not, anymore; I have seen enough monstrous potential in humans to know that what you said all those years ago is true—our humanity lies in our actions, not our physical form. Enough pressure, and even the most virtuous of men will break. And I could never be mistaken for a virtuous man, Cloud.”

“Sephiroth—”

“What makes me wonder,” Sephiroth continues, something bright and fervent burning in his gaze, “is _you,_ Cloud. I think, perhaps, I understand why this future version of me was so endlessly fascinated by you, even if you were just a trooper as you say you were. But then again, I could not possibly imagine a lifetime where any iteration of myself would not be. For who could it ever be but you?"

Cloud swallows hard, throat suddenly dry, and he realizes that Sephiroth's face has slowly crept closer to his own over the course of his speech, pupils slit thin and eyes a familiar acidic green. He finds himself leaning in, too, as if drawn by some magnetic, undeniable force, and he—

He shoves Sephiroth back as hard as he can, and his voice is more than a little frantic as he says, "Snap out of it!"

Sephiroth blinks once, twice, and his pupils thankfully dilate back to something a little more normal for him, eyes settling into a tamer color. "Snap out of…?"

"Shit," Cloud says, quickly slipping out of the man's grasp and backing up a few steps. He shouldn't have—he'd _known_ it'd been a bad idea to get so close, to touch that much; he'd even told himself not to, and yet over the course of this entire day— _"Shit."_

“I’m not under her influence, Cloud,” Sephiroth says, soft and somehow sad. “You killed her, remember? She burned. She screamed. I remember.”

“No, no, you don’t _know—_ Hojo—” But he cuts himself off. How does he know whether JENOVA is still alive or not, truly? A hunch based on how Sephiroth had acted, once or twice? The flash of alien possessiveness, the spark of their old connection between the two of them—are they truly something that stems from JENOVA’s presence, or simply an intrinsic, inescapable part of their biology by now? Did the flashes of JENOVA he’d seen really even happen, or is Cloud’s mind playing tricks on him like it so often does? And yet some part of him keeps screaming that it’s too simple, too easy for her to just be _gone—_

But either way, it’s not _fair_ to Sephiroth that he keeps treating him this way, that he keeps acting this way—

“I apologize,” Sephiroth says, still soft. “I overstepped. I did not intend to—to remind you of—”

“Fuck,” Cloud groans, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry, I literally just _said_ that you weren’t him, too, but I keep—I keep fucking up—”

“It’s all right,” Sephiroth says, but Cloud can’t help but feel it isn't anyways.

“I think,” he says, voice faltering, “I think maybe I should… go back to my room, I—”

“It’s late,” Sephiroth agrees immediately. “It’s been a long day, you must be tired—”

And now that Sephiroth says so, all exhaustion from the built-up stress of the day hits at once, and Cloud’s back starts aching more than ever. Suddenly, the prospect of going back to a room he knows is monitored only to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, trying and failing to find a position that doesn’t exacerbate the throbbing pain in his back, seems extremely daunting.

But Sephiroth’s apartment, they have well established, has no cameras. And usually Cloud wouldn’t dream of imposing on anyone like this, least of all Sephiroth for more reasons than one, but he’s so tired and everything hurts and he doesn’t think he can look Zack in the eye without shattering to pieces, and when faced with the prospect of choosing which of these two ghosts to face in this state, one of which he should trust yet doesn’t and the other which he trusts when he shouldn’t—

"Actually," Cloud says, “how do you feel about feeding the rumor mill just a bit more?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there was only one bed :3c


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess which dumbass got distracted by xiv patch 5.3 hype and forgot to reply to any comments orz... so umbrella thank u all ily, i'll try to go back and see if there are any questions i need to answer!!
> 
> anyways at least this got up by cloud's birthday so. hap borf u blond pretty boy, u get to be brick'd by a gay revelation congrats

The shower runs faintly in the background as Sephiroth rummages through his dresser, searching for something for Cloud to change into. The blond man had insisted that his uniform was fine enough to sleep in, that he'd slept in it more than often enough _before,_ but Sephiroth sees no point in having Cloud sleep in uncomfortable clothes when the whole reason he is staying the night, Cloud had explained, is because of the discomfort his hidden wings cause.

Whatever he picks will be much too large, of course, but that's practically the point. He wants Cloud to be able to keep a shirt on even with his wings out; the man hadn't seemed to like undressing in front of them all in the locker rooms, and will undoubtedly be doubly uncomfortable baring his scars solely to the man who'd made them.

So Sephiroth settles on a simple set of soft black sweatpants and a sleeveless turtleneck from his own First uniform, clothes he wears at home on his rare days off, especially after particularly harrowing sessions in the labs, when his usual leather clothing is tight and rough against his sensitized skin. He knocks on the bathroom door and lets Cloud know that he'll leave the clothes outside the door along with a towel. When he hears a faint assent, the shower shutting off, he sets the bundle down before hurrying to wait a respectful distance away in the living room.

Cloud emerges only a minute or two later, hair wet and tousled as he runs his towel over it cursorily. This combined with the way the oversized clothes hang off his frame and his flushed cheeks from the warm shower has him looking much softer than Sephiroth has ever seen him, even back during his childhood, but—

"What of your wings?" Sephiroth asks, because for all Cloud's softened appearance, the most important thing is still missing.

"Getting them wet's a hassle," Cloud says. "And feathers'll get everywhere. I was gonna just let them out when I got settled on the couch."

"The couch?" Sephiroth repeats, baffled. "You are not sleeping on the couch."

"I'm." Cloud pauses. "I'm not?"

"The whole point is for you to not strain your back further," Sephiroth says, and he'd never imagined the day when he would have to scold someone to care for their own wellbeing the way Angeal so frequently scolds him. "The couch is unsuitable for such purposes. I will take the couch, and you will sleep on the bed."

"The… bed?" Cloud has an unreadable expression on his face. _"Your_ bed?"

"I am unaware of any beds belonging to any other persons in this apartment," Sephiroth answers blandly.

"Don't be a smartass," Cloud says, but there's no bite to his words. "I can't just kick you out of your own bed. And the couch is way too small for you. My ma would have my head for being a shitty guest."

Sephiroth blinks, startled. Of course, if Cloud had been reborn a normal human fourteen years ago, then he'd naturally have a mother, but somehow the thought of Cloud having a normal blood-related family had never occurred to him. While Sephiroth cannot boast the same, he _has_ spent a significant amount of time around Genesis, and he thinks he still has a fairly accurate grasp of common courtesy, so he points out, "Wouldn't it be similarly impolite to directly go against a host’s wishes? Specifically, my wishes for you to sleep in the bed?”

Cloud’s eyes narrow. “Smartass,” he mutters again. But that seems to be enough for him to comply, as he simply nods toward the bedroom door and says, “I’m still not kicking you out, though. Here’s a compromise: we can share.”

Sephiroth’s thought process screeches to a halt. “ … Share?”

“We’ve done it enough, if you remember,” Cloud says even as he disappears through the doorway, and Sephiroth _does_ remember—the way he'd always fallen asleep with Cloud's arms wrapped around him, feeling safe and warm despite the cold, unforgiving nature of his old mattress and sheets, and—

Cloud's voice says faintly, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the feathers, by the way.”

Sephiroth manages to enter the room in time to catch Cloud letting his wings out. As the blond man stretches his arms upward and arches his spine, his wings fit easily through the too-large armholes of his shirt and spread wide to match, and they flap a few times as if to sort themselves out, sending feathers scattering about before settling against his back. 

When Sephiroth reaches out and plucks one from the air, though, it seems more like bedraggled white fluff rather than a fully-fledged feather. Cloud’s wings themselves look similarly bedraggled, feathers bent and crooked out of place, bits of fluff still clinging to the limbs, although they’re thankfully a pristine white this time rather than covered in blood like before. Still, Sephiroth finds himself asking, “Have you not been taking care of your wings?”

Cloud pauses, then looks at Sephiroth over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“They look a tad…” Sephiroth chooses his next words wisely. “Distressed.”

“They still work, don’t they?” But he self-consciously runs a hand over the underside of one of his wings, trying and failing to smooth its feathers down. “Didn't think you cared about stuff like this."

"Is it so hard to believe that I care for your wellbeing?"

Sephiroth can see the way Cloud balks a little, biting back an instinctual _yes_ as his jaw clenches for the briefest of moments, before he levels Sephiroth a cautious look. "I meant… appearances. Not much time for grooming or whatever while on the run.”

Sephiroth almost doesn’t say it, almost doesn’t dare to, but— “You have time now.” And though Cloud balks at him some more, Sephiroth sits down on his bed and pats the sheets next to him before he can lose his nerve, because for all his experience as a ruthless, unflappable commander on the Wutaian battleground, somehow this man still makes something in his chest feel—tight. Fluttery. Nervous.

“You…” Cloud takes a few hesitant steps forward, like a skittish animal. “Is that an offer to help?”

"Is it all right?" Sephiroth knows it can't be anywhere near easy for Cloud to let someone he instinctively distrusts near something as vulnerable as his wings, because no matter how much Cloud tries, some part of him doesn't trust Sephiroth, and maybe never will. And he _is_ trying, Sephiroth knows; he's endlessly grateful for it despite the way the hot and cold treatment has him feeling frustrated and hopeless at best—

But Cloud gives him another long, unreadable look then nods shortly, settling a careful distance away, back facing Sephiroth, wings relaxed and spread out against the blankets. The posture is so open, so trusting, that for a moment Sephiroth finds himself overwhelmed by an emotion he cannot name, the fluttering tightness in his chest morphing into something warm and swooping.

"I've," Sephiroth begins, laying a testing hand against the part where Cloud's wings emerge from beneath his borrowed shirt to disguise the way his voice falters, "I've never done anything like this before. Tell me if I… if it is uncomfortable."

Cloud seems to shiver a bit under his touch, but doesn't react otherwise, and Sephiroth takes it as a win. "I won't be able to help, I've never done this before either." As if in afterthought, he adds, "I'll let you know if you need to stop, though."

"All right," Sephiroth says. "I will start by removing all the loose feathers and down, then."

At first, Cloud sits stiffly, back ramrod-straight as Sephiroth begins combing his fingers through his feathers, but gradually the tension bleeds away until most of his weight leans against Sephiroth's chest and arms. Upon checking, Sephiroth realizes that Cloud's eyes have fallen shut in an expression that might be called blissful, and he doesn't seem quite aware of how he practically lies against Sephiroth, now. But Sephiroth doesn't mind; Cloud may not be light for someone of his stature, but his weight is still inconsequential to someone of Sephiroth's strength. He much prefers it when Cloud is relaxed around him, as well.

The feathers make a bit of a mess, just like Cloud had warned, but Sephiroth finds he doesn't mind despite how much he usually values cleanliness, particularly in his own living quarters. The fluffy bits of down are extremely light and soft to the touch, floating in the air for quite a while before finally settling, the pure white a stark contrast against the dark bedsheets. The discarded feathers, too, have a silky smoothness to them, and are beautiful despite their bent and broken spines. Sephiroth finds himself running his hands over Cloud's wings under the pretense of straightening their plumage long after he finishes, relishing in the texture beneath his fingertips.

Finally, he pulls his hands back with reluctance and quietly lets Cloud know that he's finished, but the man doesn't stir.

The warm feeling returns upon taking in the sight before him. Cloud's eyes are still closed, and now his breath has evened out further into a slow pace indicative of slumber. His head is cradled safely in the crook of Sephiroth's arm, and he curls a little closer even as Sephiroth shifts their positions so they lie facing each other, tucking a tuft of blond hair back into place behind his ear. Cloud is small enough that Sephiroth can tuck his head safely beneath his chin, one hand cradling his head, the other wrapped around his waist, and Sephiroth marvels at how it fits perfectly against the palm of his hand, so much strength contained in its slender shape.

At peace like this, newly-groomed wings lax and spread out behind him, Cloud really could be mistaken for an angel, Sephiroth thinks with no little amusement and even a hint of wonder.

There are many things about Cloud that Sephiroth does not understand. He doesn't understand how Cloud came to be displaced in time, why he was the one chosen to change things. What his goals are, other than the vague allusion he'd made to the end of the end of the world. How he has the self-control and even the desire to look at Sephiroth with such warmth and care in his eyes when Sephiroth is the one who carved such cruel, possessive marks into his skin.

But the man had been so serious, so painfully resolved when he'd spoken of coming from the _future,_ and Sephiroth doesn't—there's no way Cloud is lying. Not with the proof of Sephiroth's own work written all over his body, not with his intangible presence during Sephiroth's childhood, not with all the ominous things he knows that he shouldn't. Not with the strange transforming ability he has, and especially not with his _wings._ Even without all these things, Sephiroth trusts Cloud, with his life and more, and the one thing he thinks he is at least beginning to understand about Cloud is the complexity of his own feelings towards the winged man.

Genesis had first introduced Sephiroth to romantic concepts through a plethora of television dramas and ten-gil novels he'd called _a tad trite, but effective enough,_ but Sephiroth had never quite understood the appeal. Now, though—he understands not just the urge to protect and cherish that is found among family and close friends, though that is present too, but also the jealous possessiveness, the desire to be as close as possible both mentally and physically, the way Cloud's rare smiles have Sephiroth wishing to see them more, every day, all the time. Cloud has long been the singular most important person in Sephiroth's life, and Sephiroth hopes to one day be that person for Cloud as well.

Sephiroth is brought out of his musings as Cloud makes a tiny sighing noise, shifting in his sleep, and Sephiroth notes with an uncharacteristic fondness that the strand of hair he'd brushed back has fallen back into Cloud's face. The blond man isn't a completely silent sleeper; his breathing is slow and gentle, small puffs that make his bangs flutter lightly, and Sephiroth can't resist the urge to card his fingers through Cloud's hair over and over. It's a soothing gesture for both of them, and Sephiroth feels the tension from the day's events bleed away as he relaxes into the soft mattress beneath him.

He falls asleep with Cloud tucked safely in his embrace.

-

Early dawn light streams into the room from between the window curtains when Cloud wakes, painting everything in shades of blue-gray. He feels a peacefulness deep in his bones, more than just the still quietness inherent to these morning hours, and it takes a long few seconds before he realizes that there's a warm body lying in front of him and a heavy arm thrown possessively around his waist. Sephiroth's chest rises and falls with each long, steady breath; the morning light paints his sleeping face in a way that highlights the arch of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips, the length of his eyelashes, and Cloud is suddenly struck by how beautiful the man is.

He'd known, of course, that Sephiroth is an attractive man. His embarrassing childhood crush means that Cloud will never forget. But he'd pushed it along with all his hero worship to the very back of his mind, kept it under tight lock and key, and he'd never had the courage or the time to unpack it with the way calamity after calamity had befallen the Planet. He'd never _allowed_ himself to unpack it, not with the way Sephiroth had torn away Cloud's everything and promised to take its place with a smug, sinister smile—

But this Sephiroth is—softer. More open. Safe. He cares about Cloud in a way none but his closest friends had, once upon a time, and Cloud—maybe Cloud—

(maybe Cloud wouldn’t mind letting this Sephiroth be his everything)

Maybe the reasons Cloud had given Sephiroth for why he hadn't wanted to fake a relationship hadn't been true, at least not entirely. Maybe underneath it all, the largest reason Cloud hadn't wanted to is because if they ever are to be intimate he wouldn't want it to be under a mere pretense, and the way Sephiroth had seemed so unaffected, so _uncaring_ had—

It had hurt, just a bit. But he can bear it. After all, it's a far cry from the hurt Cloud is used to suffering at Sephiroth's hands.

It intensifies the longer he watches Sephiroth's sleeping face, though, a tight, heavy ache in his chest, and he ends up sliding out from under the man's grasp, careful not to disturb his light sleep. He spares an extra moment to stretch out his wings once more. It turns out that Sephiroth's impromptu grooming has actually helped a lot with their discomfort, and he luxuriates in their easy, free movement before reluctantly confining them into nonexistence once more, then pulls on his clothes from where he'd left them after his shower the night before.

He sneaks one last glance at Sephiroth, still comfortably asleep on the bed, before slipping silently out the room. After a brief moment of contemplation, he snatches a pen from the desk and a napkin from the dinner table and leaves a note; then he is gone.

-

_Snuck out early. Rumors should be going wild by the time you read this, so brace yourself._

_Thanks for the help._

The note is unsigned.

Sephiroth traces the messy scrawl over and over with his fingertips. It’s Cloud’s handwriting, of course.

It’s Cloud’s, he repeats to himself. It’s almost hard to believe that he holds physical evidence of Cloud’s existence in his hands; despite spending the entire previous day with him, the idea that Cloud might be a mere hallucination, a figment of his imagination, like Sephiroth had almost started to believe over the years, has occurred more than once. Sometimes he feels like he needs the reassurance to know that Cloud truly is here with him, that he really had existed, and he isn’t about to fade away before his very eyes again anytime soon.

Other times, times he’s less proud of, part of him still considers Cloud an intangible being who belongs solely to him, because why else would a being no one but Sephiroth is able to interact with exist other than for Sephiroth himself? But then he remembers the white scars carved almost lovingly into Cloud's skin, and thinks that the _other_ Sephiroth's beliefs had likely run along a similarly possessive vein, and he—

He wants to believe that this version of him wouldn't ever do that to Cloud, wants it for the sake of Cloud's promise to change things just as much as for his own sake, maybe even more. But the longer he thinks about it, the more uncertain he is.

The _other_ Sephiroth had likely lost the support of his two best friends, considering how urgent their degradation must have been for Cloud to have approached Genesis directly, although whether through their deaths or Hollander's desertion, Sephiroth is unsure. If his future self truly had felt betrayed by Genesis and Angeal, hadn't had the lifeline of _Cloud_ to hang onto—

Now that he thinks about it, other-Sephiroth hadn't even grown up with Cloud's presence in his life at all, and he has very little desire to imagine how he would have been different as a result. Short as that year had been, it had changed Sephiroth and his outlook on life drastically. Even when all else he'd known had been cold and cruel, Cloud had been an unwavering source of kindness and warmth, and so long as Cloud does not forsake humanity, neither will Sephiroth.

But Cloud has also been hurt irreparably—by Hojo, by Sephiroth himself, very likely by many people Sephiroth still knows nothing about—and though Sephiroth will accept Cloud's lack of action against them all for now by virtue of most of it not having happened yet, technically speaking, if Cloud should ever decide to turn against them, if Cloud should ever be _near_ hurt again—

But Sephiroth pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind for now. He has work to do; he'd woken to an empty bed with discarded feathers scattered about and a note on the kitchen table a good hour later than he should have, and though it is of no serious issue he's more behind than he'd like to be on his paperwork for the day.

Cloud’s prediction is correct; although the elevator ride to his office is short, the few people who join him as it descends stare at him, wide-eyed and curious. It’s not unusual for people to stare at someone of his fame, of course, but most people working this high up in the tower are used to his presence by now. None of them whisper, too afraid of offending him, but he can see the speculation rife in their gaze.

Blessedly, his office is as silent and well-organized as he'd left it. No one barges in randomly to interrupt his peace and quiet, and he falls into his usual mindless routine when not deployed on the battlefield, more than making up for the work he'd missed earlier in the morning. He almost follows his usual lunch routine, too, heading down to the mess hall to pick up food to take back to his office to eat when he catches sight of a familiar flash of blonde in the crowded area.

Cloud and Zack stand only a few places ahead of him in line, close enough that Sephiroth could feasibly claim to not be eavesdropping on purpose as he hears Zack say, "—gotta hit up a training room so you can show me some of those fancy moves you pulled that day, man! Those were so sick, you were all like—bam! Slash! Whoosh—"

Cloud cuts off Zack's dramatic pantomiming. "That doesn't sound like a good idea. Don't people need the rooms for like, actual training?"

"Hey, this counts as actual training! You're showing me how to get better at fighting. Not gonna lie, I've been working really hard to pull off some moves kinda like yours for a long time."

For the briefest of moments, something intense like _painfeargrief_ flashes across Cloud's face, so fast that Sephiroth catches only the barest glimpse before it vanishes. Then Cloud says, calm and blasé, "Don't think your mentor’d like that—a complete stranger training his student might interrupt whatever he's got going.”

"Angeal? Nah, man, Angeal'd just be happy that there'll be someone to kick my ass into gear while he's gone. It’s been so long since I’ve been allowed to go on a mission that he’s starting to make comments about me slacking off. _Any_ training is good training in his eyes.”

Cloud pauses. “He’ll—be gone?” There’s something weighty to his question, like Angeal’s deployment back to the Wutaian front _means_ something to the future he’s seen.

"Yeah, he and Gen left earlier today on a mission to Wutai—I think it was called Fort… Fort Tamber? Tambin?"

"Tamblin," Cloud says, still with that heavy note to his voice.

Zack smacks his fist against his open palm. "That's right! Fort Tamblin! You been there before? 'Cause that was a lucky guess—"

He ends up cutting himself off as he reaches the serving window, and Sephiroth is soon distracted with making his own order. Afterwards, food in hand, he abandons his earlier plans of eating in privacy, easily spotting the familiar head of spiky blond hair in the sea of people and sliding into the seat beside his quarry.

Zack and Cloud's conversation grinds to a halt, and when Cloud blinks up at him, blue eyes baffled, Sephiroth asks belatedly, "Is it all right if I sit here?"

" … Go ahead," Cloud says, muffled around the fork still in his mouth.

The stilted silence drags on until Sephiroth says, "How has your morning been so far?"

"Uneventful, considering everything," Cloud says, finally turning his full attention on Sephiroth as he sets his fork down with a _clink_ against his plate. "Got back to Zack's without a problem. Mostly. And—"

"Mostly?" Sephiroth is instantly alert at the passing mention of trouble.

“Well," Cloud says, "they’re, uh. The rumors're saying that me saying we weren't in a relationship triggered your… repressed possessive side and you dragged me into your room to like, fuck me into submission or something.”

“What?” Sephiroth tries not to think about it, he truly does. But Cloud’s crude words prompt the image to cross his mind regardless—Cloud's body pressed up against his own, the blond man making quiet noises of pleasure, muffled against Sephiroth’s skin. Then the scene shifts to Cloud reaching up for his face, flushed and open and vulnerable, a soft tilt to his lips and adoration in his eyes as he murmurs, _Sephiroth, I love you—_

And then Cloud snorts. “I know, right? Where do they even get this shit?"

“ … Who knows?” Sephiroth says, and tries not to let his expression show how much Cloud’s casual dismissal hurts.

He knows Cloud doesn't want this. He'd made it more than clear the day before. But still, such a blunt reminder of Cloud's rejection is—painful, he almost dares to say. Sephiroth is no stranger to physical pain, can bear the worst of tortures with nary a reaction, and yet the pang in his chest is—

It’s different, is the only way he can describe it, and it hurts in a way that he isn’t quite numbed to.

"Anyways,” Cloud continues, “found out that nice bit from some assholes who decided they didn't like the sound of it, when I ran into 'em this morning.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrow. “Who—”

“It’s fine, we dealt with it,” Cloud dismisses. At Sephiroth’s questioning look, he clarifies, “Zack helped. Thanks, by the way. I don’t think—well, getting into a fight on my first day probably wouldn’t help my case much.”

“No sweat, man. If I hadn’t stepped in, well.” Zack’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “It was right outside my—well, our door, and they were making some really gross comments, and even though I’m still not over whatever the hell you guys did yesterday in there, that doesn’t mean I support that kind of gossip. What kinda guy would I have been if I hadn’t said anything?”

“What kind of comments.” Sephiroth had known that there would be harassment, of course; Cloud had even warned him. But it should have occurred to him that Cloud would suffer far worse than Sephiroth would personally—he _knows_ how his so-called fans who idolize him can get—

“Sexual ones,” Cloud answers, far too crisp and casual. “But it doesn’t matter. Like I said, we dealt with it. More importantly—Tseng visited. Apparently my ‘interview’ is tomorrow.” 

“I see,” Sephiroth says. He doesn’t push, despite how much he wants to; it’s clear Cloud wants to move on. He resolves to ask more when they are in private, though, or at least as private as they can make their conversations when ShinRa is apparently trying to eavesdrop around every corner. “Do you want me to be present during the interview?”

Cloud shakes his head. “It’s classified, Tseng already said. And if things go south—no, it won’t help. I’ll keep you updated if things change.”

“Hey, it’ll be fine, right?” Zack says, looking a tad anxious, but his words are optimistic nonetheless. “I don’t—look, I can’t say I know exactly what you’re doing, but if what you’re saying about the reactors and mako is true, then you’re trying to make things better for the Planet and all the people on it, right? And you’re trying to do it in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone, all of us can tell, ‘cause it’d be way easier to blow ‘em all up and hurt a lot of people like that one terrorist group tried below plate, and—you’re a good guy, Cloud! Once Tseng sees that, I’m sure he’ll let you off easy.”

Cloud and Sephiroth share a look. Zack is still a Third, and hasn’t been on the field long enough to have been exposed to ShinRa’s ruthlessness, their sheer lack of care for the sake of profit. He still has what Angeal would call _SOLDIER honor,_ hopes and dreams of helping people with the power and opportunities ShinRa provides him. Sephiroth can't ever remember being so clueless, so innocent, but he’s heard Genesis and Angeal speak of their aspirations too, aspirations of heroism and honor, and only recently upon learning more of their hidden background have those aspirations dimmed into something more bitter, more hopeless.

But Cloud only sighs. “Sure, Zack.”

“Hey, you—you don’t believe me, do you,” Zack says, looking back and forth between them “ShinRa’s not that bad, I swear! Yeah, it’s definitely got its dark sides, like the Turks and stuff, but it’s also got people like Sephiroth and Angeal, right? And now you, too, Cloud, so—”

“I want to believe you, Zack,” Cloud says quietly. “I really do. Tseng’s… not a bad person. But whatever happens, it’s not up to him.”

 _It’s up to the President,_ goes unsaid. Even if the rest of the board of executives were in favor of Cloud—and knowing their personalities they likely aren’t, other than Tuesti and possibly Lazard—they have little to no say in what ultimately happens; Cloud and Sephiroth both know that the one who truly holds the President’s ear is Hojo. Always Hojo and his Promised Land and his superhuman army.

Hojo may not have tipped his hand yet, but it’s almost certain that the Science Department has access to the camera footage from yesterday, both from the Junon reactor and inside ShinRa Headquarters. Sephiroth doesn’t know when and where Hojo will act to get his hands on what he undoubtedly considers an intriguing new specimen, but a _classified_ interview with the Turks, who are already well-known for doing the Science Department’s dirty work whenever they need someone to conveniently disappear—

Either way, Sephiroth will have to be patient and believe in Cloud’s ability to fend for himself, should the situation come to that. And if not, if Tseng is approaching Cloud from a completely neutral angle, then he has absolute faith that Cloud will be able to sway the Turk’s loyalties into something a little more favorable, because Cloud is just—like that. He draws people in despite his quiet, unassuming nature, earns their trust with his selfless acts of care for all his brusque words, and anyone would be helpless to look away.

(Just as Sephiroth cannot.)

-

Cloud's interview comes much sooner than he'd like. Zack hovers in their shared room for as long as he can, but eventually he's forced out by a quick but firm knock on the door.

The first thing Tseng does after he shuts the door behind him is hand Cloud a PHS, standard issue for SOLDIER, for mission assignments and communication between squadmates. Cloud stares down at it, mildly amused that he’s managed to get _another_ PHS for free from ShinRa, and idly wonders how much gil he can cost them through indirect actions instead of his usual more… antagonistic measures.

“There will be no one listening in on this conversation,” Tseng begins, crisp and efficient. “Both the President and the Science Department are, predictably, rather upset about that fact, but I’ve managed to push it under the common protocol of keeping Turk interrogation methods confidential.”

“So this _is_ an interrogation,” Cloud says dryly.

“Of a sort,” Tseng says. “Furthermore, this deals with internal Turk matters, which are of no one’s concern other than the Turk department itself.”

In other words, anyone who might find themself privy to these matters would probably also find themself unable to be concerned about them due to the inconvenient condition of being dead, and Cloud’s first thought is, _Vincent works fast._

There’s a vague, prickling sense of smugness in the back of his head in response, no doubt from Chaos. Cloud can’t say that he’ll ever be truly comfortable with this form of communication, not after everything with Sephiroth in the future, and WEAPON-to-WEAPON communication isn't exactly reliable if Chaos is feeling finicky, but it's come in handy more than once, not the least being the time he’d managed to convey to Vincent that he’d had to blow up the Nibel reactor. Given Tseng's words and how Chaos is still radiating smugness, Vincent must have finished at least one or two things Cloud's asked him to do, though Cloud honestly wouldn't be surprised if Vincent were finished and back in Midgar already.

But Tseng doesn’t talk about the Turks first. Instead, he asks, “Who are you, Cloud Strife?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been 1000 years but [hands u this]

Cloud's heart skips frantically in his chest as he reels from the unexpected question, mind scrambling for an answer. Finally, he settles on simple denial. "I don't know what you mean." 

“Of course,” Tseng says, voice bland. “I should have expected no less of your response. I suppose if I were to ask you about your relation to said thirteen-year-old Cloud Strife, you'd also deny knowing anything."

"Then we're on the same page." Cloud keeps his expression unperturbed. But inwardly, he frowns, confused; Tseng already has confirmation that they know each other from the supposed thirteen-year-old version of him. He shouldn't need to ask _this_ Cloud about it.

Honestly, he doesn't know what he'd expected coming into this meeting. A simple, straightforward session with questions asking him to expand on what he’d said in Shinra’s office would have been nice, but Cloud isn’t naive enough to have thought it would actually happen. But he definitely hadn't expected a confrontation like _this,_ either, and now all he can think of is to stall—although for what exactly, he also doesn't know; there is simply something tiny and burning and defiant in his chest that has him raising his chin and meeting Tseng's gaze head-on, silent.

A long, stilted moment passes like that, Tseng waiting for answers Cloud is too stubborn to provide.

Tseng folds first, sighing and drawing out a thick file full of papers. "Let's get to the point. I've spent far too much of my time these past few months searching for a man who doesn't exist and a boy who by all rights should. Somehow, impossibly, you and Cloud Strife are one and the same."

"You're right about one thing," Cloud says, and he can barely hear his own voice, calm and level, over the thudding of his pulse in his ears. "That's impossible."

Tseng studies him for another long moment, file folder tapping out a slow, even rhythm against the crook of his elbow, and the papers make a fluttery _thwap_ noise. "Very well, then. Perhaps this will help you.” _Thwap._ "Director Veld was recently involved in a highly-classified mission to track down and escort an unknown commodity to ShinRa's underground laboratory.” _Thwap._ “Multiple reports from the personnel involved all claim that they were attacked by an unknown group of enhanced men.” _Thwap._ “However, the hostiles were driven off by the interference of a cloaked gunman, who then escaped with the 'commodity' during the commotion.” _Thwap._ “Two days ago, the Director returned with a red-cloaked companion he referred to as _Vincent.”_

Tseng shuts his file with a harsh _snap,_ and Cloud resists the urge to stand up straighter. “Director Veld has always been what you would call a perfect Turk, willing to sacrifice even his own family for the good of the company. For this man to shake his loyalty to the President so easily, well… I’d never expected your Vincent to be the legendary Vincent Valentine."

This new information means Cloud can breathe an internal sigh of relief; Vincent really had been able to save Shelke from being captured by Deepground in time. But for Tseng to reveal this kind of sensitive information is a massive display of uncharacteristic trust. If he weren't absolutely certain they aren't being monitored—

"There really are no cameras," Cloud realizes.

Tseng inclines his head, but his eyes still track Cloud carefully. "Indeed. A fair exchange."

Cloud had given Vincent free reign as to how to approach the Turks; he’d know better than Cloud how to deal with them, after all. If Vincent has chosen to interact with them directly, then Cloud can trust the man has everything under control regardless of how Cloud chooses to play his cards next.

Tseng's previous words indicate clearly that he’s confident in his conclusions about Cloud’s identity; his cover is already fucked. But that doesn't necessarily mean Cloud himself is fucked. Tseng has always been loyal to Rufus, no matter who he'd nominally been employed by, so what truly remains to be seen is if Tseng is willing to risk his facade of loyalty to the President to hide Cloud's secrets. Veld’s shifting loyalties means that Tseng himself has much more leeway when it comes to these matters, so—

A fair exchange, then.

“Does anyone else know? About…” Cloud trails off, gesturing vaguely to himself instead of trying to figure out how to verbalize his current situation.

“Have I reported my findings, you mean. I have not. Director Veld has since reevaluated the role the Turks ought to play in carrying out ShinRa’s whims and found the company lacking. Private assignments from the President are no longer a major concern of mine; consider this a favor for keeping your end of our agreement about Aerith.”

Cloud releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. This sounds… almost too easy to be true, and he asks half-warily, half-hopefully, “ … How’d you figure it out? It’s not exactly the most logical conclusion to jump to.”

Tseng’s lips twitch in amusement. “Director Lazard’s initial guess was clones. To be frank, logic was not a major factor in my investigation. There was quite a bit of evidence in the right places—your inconsistent age across the security tapes, your odd phrasings during interrogations, your identical mannerisms and body language under pressure… Given enough time watching their target, any Turk can pick apart even the most well-made of disguises. And past the protection that logical disbelief about your age afforded you, Cloud Strife, you were not disguised at all.”

And Tseng had been a Turk who’d spent hours upon hours locked in a small room with his so-called target; Cloud had been fighting a losing battle from the beginning. Now the game is up, and Cloud finds himself floundering. He hadn’t expected Tseng to just—not expose his identity to ShinRa. He has no idea how to proceed from here. Instead, all Cloud can do is say, “I guess… I owe you an explanation. Fair exchange, you said.”

"Indeed. Regardless of whether you truly are the same person as the boy who grew up in Nibelheim or simply someone who has taken his place, the information I request of you today has to do with the scientist responsible for your mako enhancements and a clarification of that timeline of events, as it is clearly inconsistent with your previous explanation.” When Cloud continues to hesitate, Tseng adds, "The Director is a busy man. Any information you provide will only be relayed to Director Veld if considered relevant to our investigations."

"It's not that," Cloud says. "It's—I'm not… I'm not exactly sure you'll believe me."

"We've already well established that logic has long stopped playing a role in—"

"I'm from the future." At Tseng's dead silence, Cloud huffs a rueful laugh and runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I figured you wouldn't—"

"No," Tseng interrupts, gaze sharp and analytical, and Cloud blinks up at him, startled. "Do continue."

He’d been expecting a negative reaction; he doesn’t know if the lack of response at all is better or worse. All he can do is continue, weighing each word carefully, “Well, like you said, I’m Cloud Strife. The same one who grew up in Nibelheim, not—not anyone else. I’m just… also from the future.”

Tseng doesn't say anything, just waits patiently for more, and Cloud swallows hard. “To answer your question, it wasn’t exactly an ‘unknown variable’. Got fucked over by Hojo when I was sixteen. Spent five years in a coma and another five picking up the pieces, along with some other shit. After that… well. The future is… was… It wasn't—the Planet was dead. Dying. Because of the reactors, yeah, but also because—because of—"

And oh, how does he even begin to explain Sephiroth and JENOVA? Cloud has never had to _tell_ anyone of the future—Aerith and Vincent had just _known,_ and Sephiroth hadn’t pressed for the information he deserves, not the way Tseng undoubtedly will—

“Hojo,” Tseng muses, breaking Cloud from his spiraling thoughts. “You received your enhancements from him sometime in the future, then. And they… carried over.”

Tseng’s tone is neutral, giving nothing away, but Cloud finds himself feeling oddly defensive. “I mean. Yeah.”

“Hm. Far be it from me to try to understand how the mysteries of mako work, I suppose.”

“So you… believe me? What, just like that?”

“The insane man knows not he is insane; it’s clear _you_ believe what you are saying, at least, and that on its own is already a meaningful conclusion.” Tseng ignores Cloud’s skeptical look and continues, “Our goals appear to align for the moment; Turks protect our own, and what ShinRa and Hojo have done are unforgivable. Valentine will most likely be able to provide any information we require from now on, but in the rare event we need to seek your input, expect another farce of an 'interview'. Our meeting today, too, is for the sake of delivering a message from your red-cloaked companion.”

"Vincent couldn't come see me himself?"

"He is currently otherwise occupied. He has, however, requested I inform you that Hollander will be dealt with soon."

"Hollander… I didn’t think we’d be able to get enough dirt on him for that.” Cloud's actions have readily dismantled Hollander's original plans to defect, so Cloud had asked Vincent to compile any information he could find on Hollander’s potential movements for future reference. Hollander couldn’t have done anything worth getting fired yet, unless—had Genesis’s refusal to cooperate somehow led to Hollander tipping his hand early—?

Tseng holds up his thick file of papers in answer. “I expect Valentine has something to do with this appearing on my desk. It consists mostly of inventory reports, with discrepancies highlighted and traced to possible locations where the missing resources—mostly energy supplies, laboratory equipment, experiment samples—are potentially being funneled to in small increments to prepare for what is most likely an unauthorized research operation. There is also evidence that suggests someone highly ranked in the company is feeding AVALANCHE information.”

Cloud's brow furrows. Come to think of it, Zack had mentioned something about a terrorist group below plate the other day, hadn't he? All of Cloud's knowledge of the original AVALANCHE is from Barret and the Turks; it's just as possible that this AVALANCHE is following the same timeline as before as it is different.

"A small but militant recently-emerged ecoterrorist group,” Tseng explains, and Cloud realizes he’s mistaken his frown for confusion. “Similar to you, their goals lie in eliminating mako energy."

He doesn't know if this will help at all, but if he remembers what other-Tseng had told him, long ago— "Tell Veld to look into a woman named Elfé."

"Elfé?"

"She's more than she seems."

"Noted," Tseng says after a pause, probably making a literal mental note. "But going back to your previous point—you are correct. Situational evidence like this is not enough to link Hollander to his crimes. However, several days ago, Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos approached the Turk floor and requested to speak with me personally."

 _“Genesis_ did?”

Tseng looks faintly amused by Cloud’s visible shock. “You are aware of his general distaste for our department, then. He did indeed seem rather… miffed to consult us, but I believe he acquiesced due to Hewley’s—gentle persuasions. They expressed their concern about your origins, and claimed that Professor Hollander had approached Rhapsodos rather recently with the intent to spur his defection."

“You’re going to use Genesis’s testimony,” Cloud realizes.

“Indeed; not only Rhapsodos's, but Hewley's as well. You're fortunate that your false backstory roused their suspicions enough for them to act. The word of two Firsts along with the documents here should be more than enough to spark a full investigation."

" … Don't tell me they didn't believe me either." Cloud would like to think he isn’t _that_ bad of a liar; he hadn’t been good enough to fool Tseng, sure, but Tseng has spent far more time with him than anyone else, really, and Cloud would chance to say that he is the most perceptive of any of the Turks. Besides, he’d practically told the truth during that meeting in the President's office, if a bit sparse on detail.

"No,” Tseng says, still looking damnably amused. “Rather, they seemed more concerned about the implied child experimentation than the actual explanation you provided, no matter its gaps and inconsistencies. And—Rhaposodos mentioned something about Hollander causing a plague, although he was quite vague about its specifics."

Genesis blaming Cloud's knowledge of Geostigma on Hollander—okay, that seems fair, especially since Hollander truly is responsible for Genesis's degradation, and Cloud had directly told Genesis the two were similar. The next logical step would indeed be to draw the link and assume Hollander had been the one to give Cloud his enhancements. But Cloud frantically scans his memory for when he'd managed to bring up _child experimentation_ of all things and comes up blank.

"It took you a 'long time' to recover from your supposed mako poisoning," Tseng reminds him, "and you claim to have been stable for ten years after that. Yet in the same conversation, you told us that you are twenty, which is already older than your current appearance suggests. For someone who believed you, would that not mean you received your enhancements when you were but a child? Did you think this would not spark concern from the honorable Angeal Hewley, well-known for his strong morals and adherence to justice?"

“Huh,” Cloud says, crossing his arms, because he _hadn’t_ thought, really. Not in that situation. He’d been working with a half-cobbled plan and sheer desperation. 

(Honestly, he still is.)

“Things worked out for the better regardless,” Tseng says. “Though I suppose I don’t need to tell you to mind your interactions with the Firsts in the future. Your new PHS has a feature you can activate to interfere with its correspondences and tracking signal; I trust you know to use it wisely. If all things move accordingly, I will not be seeing you soon.”

It almost seems like Tseng is closing the conversation—but that can’t possibly be all he’s been tasked with finding out during this so-called interview, can it? But the Turk tucks his file neatly under his arm and turns to leave, and Cloud realizes with a jolt that it actually is over.

“Wait,” falls from Cloud’s traitorous mouth, and it’s too late to retract it by the time Tseng turns back around, so instead Cloud firms his resolve and asks, "You're not gonna ask about the future? You'd think that'd be a priority for—Turk business and all."

Tseng studies him for a long time, and Cloud shifts uncomfortably; he knows he’s being psychoanalyzed in some way, Tseng undoubtedly picking up on more than Cloud probably wants him to know.

Finally, Tseng answers, “Make no mistake—we may no longer have conflicting interests, but I am neither your accomplice nor your friend; I have neither need nor desire for an in-depth explanation of this supposed future of yours.”

"Oh," Cloud says again, and he finds his shoulders relaxing from the tensed position he hadn't known they'd been in.

“Besides,” Tseng continues, “extracting information from you is, quite frankly, akin to extracting teeth. We could do things the hard way, but I’d say we’d both prefer to save ourselves the pain with information that may not necessarily even be reliable.”

For a moment, Cloud detects something indecipherable in Tseng’s eyes—not quite empathy, but not quite pity either—and thinks that perhaps this, too, is just another unspoken kindness Tseng is affording him. Then Tseng blinks and his expression is once more cool and indecipherable as he bids Cloud a stiff farewell.

Cloud stands alone in Zack’s room long after the door slides shut, feeling lost.

-

Cloud looks shaken when Zack runs into him lingering in the halls later that day, or as close to shaken Zack assumes the stoic man gets. His face is wan, his gaze distant and troubled, and it takes more than one try for Zack to catch his attention.

"Hey, Cloud. Cloud." Zack snaps his fingers in front of Cloud's nose. "Dude, you good?"

"Wh—oh, Zack." Cloud's smile is as wan as his face. "Hey."

"Thing with Tseng was that bad, huh?"

But Cloud shakes his head. "Not… exactly."

He doesn't elaborate, though, so Zack prods, "So is that, like, a good thing?"

"I guess. Maybe."

“Dude. You gotta give me something to work with, here.” When Cloud just answers with a flat look, though, Zack waves his hands and concedes, “Okay, okay, yeah, I get it, it’s top-secret company stuff. But—everything’s okay? You’re not gonna get dragged off to a prison cell and sentenced to death?”

Cloud gives him another long look, this time mildly surprised. Then he snorts. “Nah. Not this time. Everything should be—it should be fine. Just… confusing.”

“Well, as long as things are gonna be fine, then that’s all good.” Zack carefully tucks the _not this time_ comment into the back of his mind for later; Cloud doesn’t look like he’d answer if he asks anyways. “Hey, this means you’re officially cleared for duty now, doesn’t it? Just in time, I finally got let off probation! We can totally run missions together!”

Cloud blinks, which Zack has learned by now is Cloud-speak for bewilderment. “Don’t know if they’ll be assigning me missions yet, actually…”

Zack continues totally-not-blithely-on-purpose, “Man, we’d be unstoppable together! A totally kickass duo! And oh boy, I can’t wait to show you around Midgar, I’ll take you to all the great food places—”

Slowly but surely, the corners of Cloud’s mouth turn up into a genuine smile as Zack rambles on, and Zack beams back, proud of his success. He even manages to coax an agreement to spar together in the VR training room in a few days with the excuse that should they be sent on missions together, it’s important they know each other’s fighting styles.

Cloud seems content to just listen to Zack speak, occasionally nodding or humming to show that he’s listening. And he _is_ listening, very intently—his eyes track Zack’s face closely, not in a way that makes Zack uncomfortable, but in a way that feels like Zack holds all of Cloud’s attention.

Suddenly, though, Cloud stiffens. “Sephiroth is close.”

Cloud’s sudden change in mood has Zack pausing mid-sentence and looking around. The hallway is still empty; Cloud had chosen a particularly isolated one to loiter in, probably because of the incident from a few days ago that still lingers in Zack’s mind. “Where? I don’t see or hear him. Well, not that I’d be able to hear him if he—”

“Just—trust me, okay? He’s close.” Without further fanfare, Cloud grabs Zack’s wrist and drags him in a random direction, not hesitating as they take a series of winding turns even when Zack himself gets lost, and _Zack_ is the one who’s lived here for the past few years.

And it ends up not being a random direction at all, because Cloud opens a door and leads them into a long stairwell Zack didn’t even know existed, shutting it behind them and then leaning against the wall with a faint sigh.

“Um,” Zack says, watching Cloud close his eyes and finally relax, “you good? Sephiroth-related disaster averted? I thought you guys were… friends. With benefits. Or star-crossed lovers or something. Did you get into a fight? I thought the whole bit where Sephiroth was angry at you for lying about your relationship was resolved. Or wait, is this a new fight? Do you guys fight a lot?”

Cloud opens his eyes to scowl at him. “You’ve been listening to too many rumors.”

Zack runs his hands through his hair. "Well, that might be because my new roomie refuses to tell me anything about himself, much less why he's on close terms with _the_ Sephiroth. _Kissing and staying in his apartment overnight_ kinda close terms. And hey, you can smooch whoever you want, but the moment you bring it into our shared room, it's kinda my business too. Especially if I need to know if it's, like, gonna happen again anytime soon. ShinRa-issue beds are _not_ gonna survive aggressive make-up sex."

Cloud winces. "Okay, I deserved that. But you can relax; there isn’t gonna be make-up sex. No sex at all, actually.”

Zack stares. “Oh gods, you _did_ get in a fight. A break up? Am I gonna have to watch out for you being stabbed in your sleep by an angry Sephiroth?”

“No!” It’s the loudest Zack has ever heard him be. Cloud looks around, head cocked as if listening for something only he can hear, then slumps and runs a tired hand over his face. “We’re not—together. We never were. That kiss in your room that day was faked.”

"Hoo boy," Zack says, for lack of anything else to say.

 _"Yeah,"_ Cloud agrees emphatically, although Zack isn't sure what he's agreeing to. "You know how ShinRa's got cams everywhere, right?"

Zack nods and neglects to mention that he'd only known since about a week ago.

"We had to talk about—stuff ShinRa shouldn't know. So I had to, uh, cover his mouth." At Zack’s skeptical look, he adds weakly, “It was the first thing that came to mind that wouldn’t look suspicious.”

“Okay,” Zack says slowly. “So… let me get this straight. You fake-kissed so ShinRa wouldn’t hear what you were talking about. But the Turks caught it on camera and the rumors went mog-wild and everyone thinks you’re dating, so now you’re fake dating. And you’re avoiding him because…?”

“Because, like you said, apparently _all of ShinRa_ knows and putting on an act whenever we're seen together isn’t my idea of a good time.”

“But… you were alone in that hall,” Zack points out. “No one was around to harass you, Sephiroth or no Sephiroth. Not gonna lie, I thought that was why you were there in the first place.”

Cloud’s gaze skitters down to the floor, and he mumbles something indecipherable.

“Dude, I didn’t catch that.”

"Ever since the rumors, Sephiroth’s started being… weird now, too. I don't think I can—well, this whole thing probably bothers him just as much, even if he says he doesn't care. So it's easier on both of us if we avoid having to deal with each other as much as possible," he reasons, each word slow and measured, but it sounds almost like he's trying to convince himself, not Zack.

“Um, okay.” Zack can’t say he knows Sephiroth very well, can’t say he knows him at all, but he’s pretty sure Cloud’s perception of _weird_ is really more like—hopelessly in love, or the Sephiroth equivalent of that at least, what with the way Sephiroth looks at the blond man like he’s the only thing that exists in his universe, like he’s hung the moon and the stars and then some. But Zack isn’t going to say _that,_ because what if Sephiroth is just way intense like that and Zack is wrong? So instead he says, “I don’t think he’s _bothered_ by it.” _Hot and bothered, maybe._ “He doesn’t really… look it.”

Cloud rolls his eyes. “It’s Sephiroth. He doesn’t look anything, expression-wise.”

Zack knows a saying about pots and kettles that could be applied here. He doesn’t use it. Instead, he says, “Wanna go beat shit up in one of the SOLDIER training rooms? It might help you feel better.”

Cloud blinks up at him, once, twice. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

-

Sephiroth's deep frown sends passersby scrambling out of his way as he stalks down the hall. It's been over a week since Cloud's meeting with Tseng, and yet he hasn't seen the man since he said he'd keep Sephiroth updated. It's almost as if Cloud is purposefully avoiding him.

Yes, he could request Cloud report to his office; as a First, he has that sort of authority. But he doesn’t want to seem—demanding. Possessive. It’s an odd feeling, caring so much about someone’s perception of him, but Cloud is a free spirit, and Sephiroth gets the impression that the moment he feels trapped he will flee. But Sephiroth…

Sephiroth misses him. It's strange, that he feels Cloud's absence so acutely after only a few days when he's spent over thirteen years without him. It's illogical and frustrating and has Sephiroth in such a foul mood lately that even Genesis has been avoiding provoking him as often.

But all Sephiroth can do is take no news to be good news and wait for them to run into each other again, because—because Cloud also feels this connection between the two of them, doesn't he? That has to be why he'd pushed Sephiroth away the other night, because the _other_ Sephiroth must have used it to hurt him. And if Sephiroth knows anything for sure, it's that this connection is as inevitable as—as something poetic like two stars colliding, Genesis might say. And for once his dramatic metaphors make sense to Sephiroth, because Sephiroth knows of no force more inevitable than gravity.

So they'll meet again. They have to.

"Sephiroth!"

Sephiroth snaps out of his thoughts at the frantic call of his name, and he turns around in time to catch Zack Fair screech to a halt in front of him, doubling over to catch his breath. In between pants, he wheezes, "Sephiroth, sir—have you—have you seen—"

"What is it, Fair," he says, perhaps a tad too cold and abrupt, but he doesn't have much charity to spare for someone who has undoubtedly been spending time with Cloud every day.

But his— _not_ jealousy, thank you very much—evaporates when Fair meets his eyes with a desperate look and says, voice full of panic, "Have you seen Cloud?"

Sephiroth ruthlessly quashes the cold fear spreading through his chest. Fair is excitable, he tells himself. Emotional. He’s overreacting to something inconsequential, never mind the fact that the Third is known to be optimistic and easygoing—

“What happened,” he says, voice flat and detached in a way he certainly doesn’t feel.

Fair swallows hard as he straightens, then salutes, clearly trying to collect himself in front of a superior. “Cloud and I were sparring in the VR room. He started acting weird a little bit after we got in, but when I asked him about it he just brushed it off and said we’d agreed to spar, so—well, anyways, it was supposed to be a simulation with no enemies so we could just get to know each other's fighting styles, but then the system glitched or something and some kinda… monster I've never seen before showed up. It was crazy strong, and Cloud was already kinda… off, so he got distracted and then—I dunno why he reacted so bad, it was just VR, I would have been fine—”

 _“Get to the point,_ Fair.”

“Cloud ran off and I’ve been looking for _hours_ and I can’t find him, sir!” he blurts, then braces himself as if expecting to be reprimanded. “I—I know Cloud’s a private guy, he probably wants to be alone for a reason, but you didn’t see his face, I thought he was gonna _cry—”_

Sephiroth realizes his gloves are creaking from the strain of how hard his fists are clenched. He carefully eases his grip, then says, voice measured, “I’m not sure why you came to me for this. I have not seen Cloud for over a week; I have no more knowledge of his favored locations than you do.”

Fair runs his hands through his hair in a surprisingly Cloud-like motion, then sighs. “Look, I know you guys are going through some, uh, relationship issues, but you care about him a lot, anyone with eyes can tell. So I figured you’d want to know. And…” He looks around cautiously, then lowers his voice. “Cloud always seems to be able to tell whenever you’re close by. I have no idea how, but I thought… maybe you might be able to do something like that?”

Sephiroth stiffens. He hasn’t actually—tried anything with their connection yet; he doesn’t want to drive Cloud away with an invasion of privacy. He doesn't have the impression that Cloud would ever use their connection willingly either, and the idea of Cloud having honed this particular skill to the point of it being instinctual out of necessity makes his chest ache.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he decides to answer, “but I will help. You take the northern and western quadrants of the SOLDIER floors, as well as the lower floors open to the public. I will search the rest.”

Fair salutes again, looking relieved. “Yessir!”

Sephiroth doesn’t check to see where the Third heads first. Instead, he turns and makes a beeline for where he somehow, impossibly, knows Cloud hides, gloves creaking again as he remembers Fair’s words, _I thought he was gonna cry._

Sephiroth can't imagine someone as strong as Cloud crying. But if he truly is crying, he vows, there will be hell to pay.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost 5k words of sefikura communicating. we'll get back to the plot someday i swear orz

Curled up on the ground and lost in thought as he is, Cloud doesn't realize Sephiroth is nearby until it's too late to hide. Hesitant footsteps prompt him to peek out from the safety of his arms, and he catches a familiar set of battle-worn leather boots pause in front of him before shifting as their owner slides down into a crouch.

When it becomes clear Cloud isn't going to be the one to start the conversation, Sephiroth says, "Cloud."

Cloud takes another moment to compose himself, carefully shutting away the images of  _ cliffs-dirt-blood-death-Zack _ into a tiny corner of his mind. Not gone, but to be dealt with later. Then he takes a deep breath and unfolds himself, meeting Sephiroth's gaze. "What is it?"

For some reason, Sephiroth looks startled. "I… thought you might have been—" He cuts himself off and shakes his head. "Never mind that. Zack said you were… upset, so I thought I should seek you out."

"Zack…" Cloud runs a weary hand through his hair. "Oh yeah, I need to apologize for running out on him."

Before he can stagger to his feet, though, Sephiroth catches his arm, and it's really not fair how much he still  _ looms  _ even when he's crouching and Cloud is half-standing.

"Don't," Sephiroth says, and it almost sounds like a plea. "Don't brush this off like it's nothing."

Cloud frowns down at the ground. "It kind of is nothing."

"It isn’t. Tell me what happened. What’s wrong." And this time, Sephiroth really does say, "Please."

Cloud stares at him for a long moment, considering, then flops back down with a sigh. "Okay. If you really wanna know."

"I do." Sephiroth's answer is firm, unwavering, and his hand slides down to cradle Cloud’s own so carefully it makes Cloud’s chest ache in a way he really doesn’t want to think about at the moment.

“ … I really don’t know where to start,” Cloud says after a while.

"Let's speak in my apartment," Sephiroth suggests quietly, running his thumb over Cloud's knuckles. "If it's a long tale, it will be more comfortable there."

Cloud nods his assent, and Sephiroth helps him stand even though he really doesn't have to. When he voices this, though, Sephiroth’s lips curl upwards as he says, "I know," something warm like fondness curling in his voice, and to his mortification, Cloud finds himself fighting back a blush even as Sephiroth's arm leaves his waist.

He doesn't even notice their hands are still connected until they make their way past more crowded areas to the elevator and onlookers start whispering, not even trying to be subtle as they stare. When he tries to slip his hand out of Sephiroth's grasp, though, it tightens.

"People are staring," Cloud murmurs, just loud enough for only Sephiroth to hear.

"Let them," Sephiroth murmurs back. "It is better for us to be seen casually together like this than scrambling to hide it. Rumors about things that are commonplace are no longer rumors."

"You would know, wouldn’t you." Cloud doesn't intend to sound so hostile, but the unwanted attention has his metaphorical hackles raised, and he carefully unclenches his jaw and untenses his shoulders. "Sorry."

Sephiroth doesn't seem bothered by Cloud's brusque reply, though. "Genesis taught me quite a bit when it comes to matters of publicity, albeit not without struggle. He was quite frustrated with my slow uptake."

The image of Genesis coaching Sephiroth with his particular brand of unhelpful criticism and quick temper has the corners of Cloud’s mouth quirking up in amusement. He feels a bit more at ease knowing that he isn't the only one who has trouble with these sorts of things.

When they're finally alone as the elevator ascends, Cloud says, "Thank you."

Sephiroth blinks down at him, looking mildly surprised. "For what?"

Cloud thinks for a moment, not entirely sure himself. Finally, he says, "For finding me."

-

In the end, Cloud hadn't been crying at all, and Sephiroth doesn't know if he should be relieved or even more worried.

Because he hadn't been crying, but after seeing him curled up on the ground like that, small and defeated, Sephiroth's rage had compressed down into a cold and hard lump in his gut, something almost like fear. Cloud’s expression, when he'd finally looked up, had simply seemed exhausted, and Sephiroth dreads thinking of what Zack had seen on his face when the emotions had been raw.

When they reach his apartment, Sephiroth has no excuse he can make to keep Cloud's hand from sliding out of his grasp, and he has to keep himself busy to fight the urge to grab it again and pull him close.

"Feel free to make yourself comfortable on the couch," Sephiroth starts, then hesitates; he's never really had a guest over before. Never had to welcome anyone as a host. But he finds himself anxious to make a good impression, because even though Cloud already knows about everything there is to know about Sephiroth, last time they'd been in here it hadn't exactly been under usual circumstances.

This time isn't either, really, but Sephiroth is here to try to fix that. So he continues, "There is Banora apple juice in the refrigerator, if you'd like me to fetch you something to drink. Let your wings out, as well. I will take this chance to groom them as we speak."

Cloud lets out a tiny, startled laugh even as he perches carefully on edge of the couch seat, posture stiff as if trying to disturb the space as little as possible. "Banora apple juice? What, did Genesis force it on you?"

"Yes," Sephiroth lies. He's not telling Cloud that he went and asked Genesis for tips on how to make his apartment more appealing so Cloud might be incentivized to stay more. Genesis laughing his ass off and providing no useful information whatsoever had been more than enough shame to last a lifetime—not that he thinks Cloud would laugh at him, but inexplicably, he finds the idea of Cloud finding out embarrassing regardless.

"It'd be nice to try it," Cloud says, gaze drifting in the way that Sephiroth has come to recognize happens when he gets lost in his memories of the future. "Genesis talked about its apple juice a lot, but… Banora burned down around this time."

" … I see." Sephiroth isn't sure what else to say without seeming insensitive— _ you and Genesis knew each other? You were close? You never told me this— _ so he makes himself busy washing the dust off an untouched glass he manages to find after rummaging through the cupboards. "Ice or no ice?" He's fairly certain his refrigerator has an ice function, but he isn't exactly sure how it works—

Cloud laughs again, quiet and amused, and Sephiroth is just glad he seems to be in a better mood after watching Sephiroth struggle to navigate his own kitchen. “No ice is fine. You really don’t stay here very much at all, huh.”

“We  _ have _ gone over this," Sephiroth answers wryly. "The absence of cameras is solely due to my infrequency of stay.”

“We did, yeah. But it’s just… nice. Seeing you like this.” Cloud doesn’t elaborate what exactly he means by  _ this, _ though. “Speaking of which, the Turks should be leaving us alone, now, so this place might not get bugged as quickly. But that doesn’t mean the Science Department won’t figure out how to get in eventually.”

"So the meeting with Tseng went well, then." It's not a surprise; Sephiroth had guessed as much in the first place. But he wishes he hadn't had to guess, and he hides the bitter twist of his lips as he hands Cloud his drink.

"'Well'," Cloud echoes as he takes it with a nod of thanks. "That's one word for it." His nose wrinkles slightly as he brings the glass up to his mouth, clearly not expecting the fizz of carbonation, and Sephiroth can't help but find it endearing. He watches Cloud take a few more measured sips before he continues, “Tseng… guessed who I was. So I told him the truth.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrow, mind racing with all the things Cloud is not saying. “He knows now? But he must not have reacted negatively, if you say the Turks are no longer an issue. Who else knows?”

“Just Tseng.” Sephiroth very carefully does not stare as Cloud runs his tongue over his lips, catching a stray droplet of juice clinging to the corner of his mouth. “The Turks are busy with internal stuff; he isn’t interested in my case anymore.”

Meaning he has no reason to report it, or to follow up on his investigations. But even if the Turks truly are experiencing extreme turmoil within their ranks, Tseng would not simply  _ stop _ like this unless he has some other motivation to drop Cloud’s case, so Sephiroth asks carefully, “You did not—you did not… trade anything for his silence, did you? Information? … Favors?”

If Tseng  _ has _ demanded something from Cloud in return—

But Cloud hastily says, “No—nothing like that. It was just for… something I helped him out with a while ago.”

He finishes his drink, clearly not about to elaborate unprompted, and Sephiroth can respect that the discretion is for Tseng’s sake more than anything else. It doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, though.

Finally, Sephiroth says, "You have not let out your wings."

He does not sound plaintive, he tells himself. He is simply concerned with Cloud's comfort, both current and in the future, since even with the Turks out of the way, they have no idea when his apartment will no longer be private.

"They're not that bad yet,” Cloud says, shrugging. “I didn't want to get feathers all over your floor again."

“I would not have asked if I was not prepared to clean up after taking care of them.” They shouldn’t make as much of a mess from here on out, either, now that Sephiroth is here to groom them; Sephiroth never wants to see Cloud’s wings in such a neglected state again.

“It’s… really fine. You don’t have to.”

“Cloud. I know I do not have to. I simply want to."

Cloud stares up at him, blue eyes wide, before he huffs and relents, tugging off his shirt before letting his wings spring free in a single fluid movement just like last time.

Sephiroth moves to sit directly behind him on the couch, carefully telegraphing his intentions, and he's pleased when Cloud doesn't so much as flinch even when he ends up settled neatly between Sephiroth's legs. It's a bit of an unwieldy position that results in Sephiroth's arms pressing against the back of the couch more often than not as he fusses with Cloud's wings, but it's more than made up for by the warm weight of Cloud's legs against his own. Sephiroth would only have to lean the slightest bit forward to tuck Cloud's head under his chin.

Not that he does it, of course, but just knowing he  _ could _ is worth it on its own.

Sephiroth combs his fingers through the soft undersides of Cloud's wings as he waits patiently for the other man to speak. Cloud doesn't respond well to prodding when it comes to things like this, he's learned by now. It's better to let him initiate on his own terms.

With each stroke of Sephiroth's hands, the tension melts away from Cloud's posture in increments, but it isn’t until he’s almost finished with the admittedly minimal grooming needed that Cloud finally sighs, shoulders slumping. "Right. Okay, I think can… explain what happened now. But first, what did Zack tell you?"

“He said you were sparring in the VR room, but it malfunctioned and spawned an unwanted enemy. The rest was… unclear.” Sephiroth pauses, tries to make sense of Fair’s hasty words. “I believe he also mentioned you were already distracted long before the enemy appeared. Then something must have happened, because he said you reacted negatively and ran.”

Cloud winces. “Ah… yeah. In hindsight, I should have told you this a while ago anyways, so—okay.” He takes a deep breath, then starts, “I told you that everything I said about my past was technically true. Well, my friend who was killed protecting me… was Zack.”

Oh. That explains—well, quite a lot, really, about why Cloud had reacted so strongly when he'd heard Fair yelling the other day. About why Cloud seems to react strangely around the Third in general. Then Sephiroth realizes Cloud is waiting for a response of some kind, so he makes an affirmative noise and resumes running his fingers through Cloud's feathers in what he hopes is a soothing motion.

"Zack chose the cliffside by Midgar today," Cloud continues. "It was a coincidence, I know. He just wanted a flat, open area to spar… but seeing Zack  _ and  _ the cliffs at the same time wasn't—I didn't—"

Sephiroth knows exactly where this is going. "It brought up bad memories," he guesses. "I'm sorry."

Cloud shakes his head. "It would have been fine if it was just that. I could have dealt; seeing Zack was like that at first too, until I got used to it. But then the VR glitched, and—I was already distracted. He got hurt defending me. And it was like watching him die in the rain all over again.”

“Cloud,” Sephiroth starts, but Cloud just shakes his head again.

“I kinda went overboard.” He makes a small, self-deprecating noise. “The VR might be broken now. But I guess that might be for the better. That kind of glitch—it’s  _ dangerous. _ Getting hurt in there might not physically hurt you in real life, but I’ve heard that the effects of the mental dissonance… aren’t always pretty if you aren’t used to it."

“Rest assured, Fair is quite used to VR and seemed to be suffering no adverse effects when he sought me out. However, in all honesty, I have never heard of a case where the VR system glitches like this. I will submit a request for a team of technicians to investigate, although it may not be possible if it has been damaged beyond repair. But don’t worry; it’s quite common for Firsts to damage the VR equipment when sparring. I imagine it will be fixed within a few days. You will not be punished.” 

Sephiroth neglects to mention the fact that it’s usually him and Angeal and Genesis who are the culprits, and the company is only willing to let the property damage slide because they are its highest-performing SOLDIERs. He will ensure that Cloud is not punished.

Cloud seems a tad uncertain, but all he says is, “If you’re sure. Do you think, maybe…”

He trails off, and Sephiroth prompts, “Hm?”

“No, I’m… probably just being paranoid,” he mumbles, half to himself. “Forget it.”

“You’re hiding things from me again.” Sephiroth tries not to sound accusatory, he really does, but it slips into his tone anyways, and Cloud’s responding silence is telling.

Eventually, Cloud says, voice mild, "We've really only known each other as adults for a few weeks, you know. You don't have to feel… obligated to help me or whatever just because of some things that happened when you were five. Hell, most people don't remember shit from when they were five."

Sephiroth allows himself to frown; Cloud can't see it from this angle. "I said I want to," he repeats, careful to keep his voice just as mild as Cloud's. "Although I would not consider it out of  _ obligation,  _ I will admit a large reason why I originally sought you out was because of our past. But it's more than that. You've always seen me as worth protecting, even now, when I am an adult and fully capable of slaughtering battalions. You made it clear in Wutai. And then that day in the underwater reactor… Before you, I had never once encountered anyone bold enough to willingly fight me while injured and, more importantly, skilled enough to live to tell the tale.”

"Right," Cloud says, tired and bitter. "It’s about the fighting."

“My interest in you extends far beyond fighting; you are my equal, Cloud. That is more than enough."

" … Interest?" Cloud's voice holds an unreadable note.

Sephiroth regrets that this angle means he can't see Cloud's face, either, because while Cloud's face itself may be inexpressive, his eyes tell entire stories. He has no idea what Cloud is thinking, so he settles on trying to reassure. "You saw me as a child and understood—the pain, the doubt, the loneliness. I did not know, back then, but now I know better. You understood because you'd lived it as well. You still understand. Perhaps you will be the only one to ever understand me."

"Wh—that's not true," Cloud immediately protests. "You have your friends. They understand."

But Sephiroth just shakes his head, desperate for Cloud to understand that he is  _ special.  _ Has always been special. "You taught a child who'd only known monstrosities what humanity was. I may be but the shell of a monster, but I never forgot what you said. What matters is that my heart is human, so long as I choose." And now Cloud holds it, just as he had all those years ago, and Sephiroth knows he will keep it safe.

Cloud sucks in a deep breath, and Sephiroth can feel it tremble as he holds it. Finally, he releases it in a weak laugh. "You remembered. I'm sorry, that was a cheesy line."

"I believe I once told you I remember much of if not all our time together. I have the closest thing to a perfect memory science can boast," Sephiroth informs him.

“Well, that’s a little embarrassing,” Cloud says, a hint of his usual sass sneaking back into his voice. “You remember me telling you bedtime stories too?”

“I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to mock me,” Sephiroth says dryly. “Have you finally dismissed the foolish notion that I care for you simply out of something as meaningless as  _ obligation?” _

Cloud is inexplicably silent for another long moment. When he does speak, he lists almost randomly, “Care. Interest. Fascination…” He twists in Sephiroth’s lap to frown up at him, gaze roving over his face, and Sephiroth blinks placidly back down, perplexed but patient enough to wait for him to find whatever he looks for in Sephiroth’s expression.

Finally, Cloud seems to reach some kind of conclusion. "Do you remember," he begins quietly, "when I freaked out the other day and yelled at you to snap out of it?"

"I remember. You were quite adamant that I was under some kind of influence. But what I said still stands—JENOVA is dead. You killed her."

Cloud hums in acknowledgement. "I'm not as sure about that as you are. But I don't want to live in fear of her forever, either."

Sephiroth nods. "A wise decision. But I don't quite follow why you're bringing this up, unless—" Unless, part of Sephiroth hopes with an almost irrational fervency, Cloud has changed his mind since then—

"I thought," Cloud interrupts. "I thought you were being so calm about this fake relationship thing because you didn't care about how people saw us. About how we saw each other. About how things between us might change."

"You know that's not true. Or at least… I thought you did." Sephiroth can't keep himself from frowning, upset. "I care nothing for other people’s opinions, yes, but… I thought my actions made things quite clear about how I feel towards you. But—you pushed me away.”

Cloud had made his rejection just as clear as Sephiroth’s confession, both in his actions and his words. And Sephiroth—Sephiroth had thought that it'd only been fair considering, well, everything. The last thing he wants is to become even more of a mirror of the crazed ghost that still haunts Cloud’s every step.

"Well, now I know," Cloud says, still quiet. A tad regretful. “But I… well, he may have hated me, but the other Sephiroth was a possessive bastard. So I guess I chalked it up to JENOVA, because I thought…” His wings fluff up in an endearingly transparent gesture of embarrassment as he mumbles, “It didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t because of this connection between us, why would you—?”

Before Sephiroth can answer and tell him that connection or not, he feels how he feels, Cloud continues, “But that’s on me for making assumptions. For not listening when you’ve been more than clear. Like I said. Care. Interest. Fascination. Those are all your own words. It’s not fair to you for me to assume your feelings depend entirely on JENOVA. And I…”

“And you…?” Sephiroth’s voice is hushed. He tries not to betray his swelling hope, because if Cloud hadn’t pushed Sephiroth away because he’d made him uncomfortable, but rather because he’d thought his confession hadn’t reflected his true feelings—

Cloud’s mouth curls upwards, just a tiny bit. “That thing you were trying to do before I pushed you away that day. Wanna try it again?”

Sephiroth blinks down at him, once, twice. “Are you asking me to kiss you, Cloud Strife?” Even as he asks, his hands instinctively curl around Cloud’s waist, heavy and possessive. He’s never really kissed anyone—the disastrous practice incident with Genesis does  _ not  _ count, thank you very much—and he’s never much understood the appeal, but he thinks he’d enjoy it. Kissing Cloud.

“Maybe. We deserve a redo, yeah?” Cloud’s mouth tilts even higher with amusement, and this time Sephiroth is compelled to lean forward and cover it with his own.

It’s not much of a kiss as kisses go, at least compared to the way Genesis’s cheap novellas like to describe them. It’s more of a press of mouths, no _ interlocking battle of tongues  _ or whatever purple prose is usually dedicated to open-mouthed kisses, but it’s warm and solid like Cloud’s weight in his lap, and the way Sephiroth can feel Cloud smile into it is better than anything else he could have expected.

Cloud’s still smiling when they pull apart, the faintest hint of red tingeing his face, and Sephiroth finds himself running his thumb right over the pinkest part of his cheekbone, just taking in how beautiful Cloud looks when he’s truly happy.

A fraction of how Sephiroth feels must show on his face, because Cloud says quickly, “I’m—I’m not really sure about a whole relationship or anything. That takes time and effort and you deserve more than I can—well, I’m going to be busy. The reactors, Deepground, JENOVA, whatever the fuck Hojo is up to—there’s still so much that needs fixing. By the time this whole shitshow is over, who even knows if you’re still gonna feel the same—”

“Rest assured my feelings will be unchanged,” Sephiroth says, carefully pressing his forehead up against Cloud’s and letting his hair cascade down in a silver curtain, narrowing both of their fields of vision to just each other. “I’m willing to wait. As much time as you need—I’ll wait for you. Forever if need be.”

Cloud stares up at him for a long moment. Then his eyes fall shut as he sighs, almost like a laugh, and he leans into the touch. “Of course you’d end up just as possessive as that bastard.”

For the first time, Sephiroth doesn’t feel upset at being compared to  _ him.  _ Instead he’s almost pleased, because Cloud says it like it’s an inevitability, like it’s a fact of the universe they’d end up entangled together like this.

Their comfortable silence is broken by an angry buzzing in Sephiroth’s pocket, and the caller ID when he pulls out his PHS to check reads  _ Angeal Hewley.  _ He’s almost about to ignore it—Angeal can wait, he’d understand that this moment with Cloud is clearly much more important—when Cloud peers down at the name, then says belatedly, “Shit. Zack.”

Right, Angeal's probably calling about his puppy. Cloud  _ is _ starting to look a bit worried, so Sephiroth reluctantly answers. “Sephiroth speaking.”

_ “Sephiroth?”  _ Angeal’s voice sounds equal parts tired and exasperated.  _ “Zack showed up a few minutes ago saying something about how you disappeared looking for Cloud. You wouldn’t happen to be together at the moment, would you?” _

“Yes, we are. Tell Fair to stop worrying.”

_ "See? I told you he'd probably found him already," _ Angeal says, presumably addressing his student.  _ "Now stop pacing and sit down, you'll wear a hole through the carpet." _

Another indignant voice comes faintly through the line. Sephiroth picks out something rather uncomplimentary about his parentage, but he's willing to let it slide. Somewhat.

Angeal must move his receiver away, because the rest of the conversation is muffled. Finally, Angeal says,  _ "Zack wants to talk to Cloud. Could you pass the PHS to him?" _

Sephiroth looks over at Cloud, who he knows has been listening in. To be honest, some petty part of him doesn't want to let someone who just called him a bastard talk to Cloud, but he obediently hands over his PHS anyways when the other man holds his hand out.

“Zack,” Cloud greets quietly, only to wince when Fair’s voice sounds loudly in his ear, scolding and concerned. Sephiroth watches his expression turn soft and sad as he says, “ … I’m sorry. For worrying you.”

_ “And for turning your PHS off,” _ Zack says plaintively.

“And for turning my PHS off,” Cloud agrees.

_ “All right, Cloudy, I forgive you. As long as you're doing better now. Angeal said Sephiroth said you guys are together right now. Bastard didn’t tell me he found you even when  _ I’m  _ the one who told him about—well, anyways. So he found you okay? Did you talk things out? He noticed you’ve been avoiding him, you know—” _

“Yeah,” Cloud says, and his eyes are warm when he meets Sephiroth’s gaze. “We talked. We’re good now.”

_ “Good now as in…?” _

“We’re, uh. Together. Kind of.” Cloud turns red again, much darker than after they’d kissed, and Sephiroth would find it more unfair if he weren't so busy being pleased that despite Cloud's earlier words about wanting to wait on a relationship, he'd still said that they are _together._

_ “I know, you already said you were—oh. Ohhhhh.” _ Zack’s tone shifts from confusion to something mischievous and knowing.  _ “Didn’t I tell ya? That guy is crazy about you—” _

“Zack. He’s right here, he can  _ hear  _ you.”

_ “Oh?”  _ Rather than grow abashed, Zack says louder,  _ “Hey, asshole! You sent me in the wrong direction on purpose so you could comfort Cloud all by yourself, didn’t you? I don’t care if I used to idolize you, Cloud’s my best friend and you better treat him right or I’ll—” _

_ “Zack!”  _ Angeal’s voice scolds distantly.  _ “Don’t forget he’s still your superior officer!”  _ There’s a fumbling, then Angeal apologizes,  _ “Sorry about that, Sephiroth. You as well, Cloud.” _

“Don’t worry about it,” Cloud says, but there’s a furrow in his brow that hints at bafflement. "'Used to'?"

Sephiroth shrugs. Far be it from him to understand how idolization works; it’s enough that it means there is one less person to look at him with stars in their eyes that blind them to the blood on his hands. “If Fair has been reassured of Cloud’s safety,” he says, taking the PHS back from Cloud, “then I believe we are done here.”

_ “All right,” _ Angeal says over Zack’s protests.  _ “I can’t claim to know what’s going on, but for what it’s worth, Sephiroth… I’m happy for you. You found your angel.” _

“Your  _ what?” _ Cloud says, wings fluffing up in agitation again. “I can’t believe you told other people about that,  _ you were five—” _

“Thank you,” Sephiroth tells Angeal, “but I’m hanging up now before you can embarrass me further.”

Angeal laughs.  _ “Absolutely fair, good luck with—” _

Sephiroth hangs up before Cloud can hear whatever else Angeal is about to say.

“That’s been enough drama for today, especially for you,” he says to Cloud. “If you’re hungry, I will go find something for you to eat, but otherwise, I believe it is time to sleep.”

And before Cloud can even voice his assent, Sephiroth hefts Cloud up into his arms as if he weighs no more than a sack of rice, startling him so much it takes a good twenty seconds before he starts protesting.

“Wh—put me down, Sephiroth, I can walk—”

“I know you can. I simply want to hold you.”

“I have a meeting tomorrow with Reeve and the rest of the board for the new sustainability initiative—”

“All the more reason to go to bed early. I assure you those types of meetings are more than napworthy; you’ll find yourself struggling to stay awake.”

“People are going to talk if I spend the night  _ again—” _

“Let them talk. The rumors are no longer entirely untrue, at least.”

“Only the least nasty ones,” Cloud mutters under his breath, but he finally stops wriggling.

Sephiroth pauses in the doorway to the bedroom, looking down at Cloud. “Is this… all right?” He’s fairly certain that if Cloud had genuine protests, he’d be out of Sephiroth’s arms in an instant, but he wants to make sure. Just in case.

Cloud blinks up at him, eyes wide and blue, before he smiles again, soft and happy and a little bit awed. “It’s all right. Thanks for asking.”

“I’ll always ask.” Sephiroth tries to impress a solemn weight into his promise. “Your comfort matters to me.”

“I know,” Cloud says, an entire timeline’s worth of meaning in those two words. He rests his head in the space between Sephiroth’s shoulder and neck, and he fits as if he belongs there. “Thank you.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a necessary fast-forward daily life-esque chapter, but i tried to keep it somewhat engaging. more plot soon!!

The board meeting erupts into another series of squabbles, and Cloud stifles a yawn behind his hand as Reeve tries to regain their attention. Sephiroth had been right; these meetings are more than napworthy despite the eight hours’ worth of sleep Cloud had gotten the night before. His rest hadn’t been undisturbed—he’d woken up more than once with Zack’s name on his lips, reaching for the back of a man who no longer exists—but Sephiroth’s presence nearby had… helped, a lot, and he’d still ended up getting more sleep than he’s used to. And yet he finds his attention drifting off, meeting Sephiroth’s amused gaze across the table as the man raises a brow as if to say, _I told you so._

It’s no fault of Reeve’s own that nothing is getting done. He’s already set up all the paperwork needed to negotiate a partnership with the Corel mines, and his proposals on using the remaining mako in the reactors to fuel the transition to coal and oil while developing more cost-efficient renewable energy methods are almost as good as Reeve-from-the-future’s. Cloud finds himself idly wondering if he can somehow get Cid to speak with Reeve sometime soon, because Cid had eventually ended up just as invested in alternative energies, if only just to develop a new energy source as strong as mako to propel a rocket to space.

Next to Sephiroth, Genesis makes no effort to conceal his eyeroll when Heidegger bellows something about funding for the eleventh time within the hour, and Angeal massages his temples. The motion of Lazard's pen is loose and aimless, and Cloud can tell he is doodling rather than taking any notes.

Scarlet adds in her own two cents on the budgeting issue, causing another argument to erupt. Reeve's shoulders slump in defeat as he begins to gather up his presentation notes, clearly giving up on getting anyone to listen to the rest, and no one pays any attention as Cloud leans over and tells his former—future?—friend, “It's a good plan. The only one ShinRa has. The President will have to approve it sooner or later.”

Reeve looks like he interprets it as more of a threat aimed at the President than Cloud really means, but he isn’t about to take it back when the man’s eyes light up in relief. “Oh, gods, thank you so much. I sincerely don’t know if we ever could have gotten this far without your ultimatum, and I just—Urban Development carries next to no weight in this company, but if you ever need anything…”

Cloud shrugs, a tad embarrassed by the man’s gratefulness. His actions are inspired by Reeve’s future counterpart anyways; Cloud can’t claim much credit for himself at all. “You’re doing what’s best for the Planet and the people. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do,” Reeve insists. “I meant to ask you, by the way—do you find these plans acceptable? I didn’t have time to consult you on what opinions your friends had before this meeting was called, but if there’s anything else you think should be implemented, it’d be the least I could do.”

Cloud knows he’s giving Reeve the strangest of looks, a kind of ironic sadness, but— “It’s perfect,” he says, and the empty space in his chest where his old friends used to fit aches more than ever. “Your plans are… exactly what they would have wanted.”

Reeve just gives him a well-deserved strange look back. Before he can say anything, though, a familiar hand falls on Cloud’s shoulder, and Sephiroth says, “Cloud. The meeting has concluded.”

Cloud blinks, looks around, and sure enough, everyone else has either broken into conversation among themselves or started slowly trickling out the conference room.

“We ran over time again,” Reeve says with a sigh, “on nothing but budgeting arguments. Again.” He massages his temples, looking exhausted, then stands and gathers his scattered presentation notes. “I’ve got to run to take care of some department affairs, but thank you for your help regardless, Cloud. Like I said earlier, we wouldn't have gotten this far without you.”

“Ah, I already said you don't—” But Reeve has already given Sephiroth his own hasty nod farewell and left, and Cloud finishes lamely, “—have to thank me…” Cloud’s shoulders slump as he sighs, bemused, and when he looks up to meet Sephiroth’s gaze, the man’s eyes are amused.

“Perhaps you should just accept that people are grateful to you,” Sephiroth says, and his hand slides down Cloud’s arm to help him stand. “I, for one, certainly am.”

Cloud bats him away with a grumble and gets up on his own. “Don’t need to flatter me when we’re already together.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

Cloud ducks his head at the earnest sincerity in Sephiroth's voice, trying—and probably failing—to hide the heat rising in his cheeks. Ever since their long talk the day before, Sephiroth has been unabashedly heavy-handed in his compliments, and Cloud—well, Cloud had never grown up with much praise before, never learned how to respond to it correctly, so now all he knows how to do is either stammer an inadequate thanks or simply brush it off.

As they leave the room together, Cloud lets his hand brush against Sephiroth's in apology for his brusque response, and Sephiroth catches it and squeezes gently. When Cloud looks up, surprised, Sephiroth’s gaze is soft and fond.

It’s heavy, the weight of Sephiroth’s unfettered affection. Cloud hates that he isn't able to respond the way Sephiroth deserves—not that he doesn't want to, or that he doesn't reciprocate, but because he simply doesn't know how, and he curses himself not for the first time for being so emotionally awkward. It'd once been a point of contention between him and Tifa, where she often grew—not frustrated, per se, but _disappointed_ in Cloud's chronic inability to act as the family she'd always wanted.

He'd been afraid, really. Afraid of failure when he'd tried to fit into the role Tifa had wanted him to play ever since that night on the water tower, because he's never been able to save even himself, much less anyone else. So she'd learned to stand strong and be her own knight in shining armor, because she didn't need Cloud after all; Cloud is the one who’d needed her. The one who’d been the burden.

He misses her. He misses her compassion and her level-headedness, the way she'd never been afraid to punch things to stand up for what was right, the way she'd been able untangle all sorts of emotional messes, the way she'd always listened to the things he'd never said, the things that will never be said now that it's _too late—_

_(Thank you. I'm sorry. I only want you to be happy.)_

And now he's afraid of repeating the same mistake again. Of pushing Sephiroth away because he doesn't live up to the idealized version that lives in the other man's mind. Because the more time Sephiroth has to get to know him, the clearer it will be that Cloud isn't that amazing, isn't that special, isn't the flawless angel Sephiroth thinks he is. Then Sephiroth has no choice but to give up, because for all Sephiroth's promise to wait forever, who would still want someone who isn't really the person they'd thought they'd fallen in love with?

"Cloud." Sephiroth's voice breaks him out of his thoughts. "Cloud, we've reached the mess hall. Would you like to get something to eat here?"

"Oh, okay… sure," Cloud says, distant. Distracted. Sephiroth's eyes, when he meets them, are sad, and he thinks bitterly, _Didn't pay attention. Another failure._

They've been standing in line in awkward silence for a few minutes by the time Cloud's guilt builds enough for him to say, "I'm not… like that. Not someone people should be grateful to. I…" He struggles with the words, fights to get them out in a way that makes _sense._ "You said all those things yesterday, but I can't live up to your expectations. I'm just _me."_

He keeps his eyes glued to the floor; he can’t bring himself to watch Sephiroth’s reaction when this closeness is something Cloud wants too. But it's better to warn Sephiroth in advance than let it drag out too long and force him to learn things the hard way. Maybe this way, he won't be too upset.

“ … Cloud. Look at me.” A gentle finger nudges against the bottom of his jaw, coaxing his head to tip back and look up at Sephiroth again. His eyes are dark and still sad as a frown creases his brow. “You carry so many expectations of yourself. Of your ability to save the world. Just as I carry the weight of ShinRa’s expectations to be their perfect idol and deadliest weapon. But should I fail at my duties, would you forsake me as ShinRa and the rest of the public would?”

“Of course not,” Cloud immediately protests. “Fuck ShinRa and their bullshit expectations. They’re unrealistic anyways, it’s got nothing to do with who _you_ are—”

“Then,” Sephiroth interrupts, “can I not return the favor for you? Whatever expectations you believe I have—I don’t want anything you already aren’t. Only what you are willing to share."

“But I—” Sephiroth’s voice when he had spoken about Cloud yesterday still rings clear in his mind—a tad awed, a tad intrigued. Wholly adoring. And it’d tugged something loose in his chest, made a soft and quiet voice in the back of his mind go, _Oh. Oh, he cares. So, so much._

And how can someone like Cloud possibly live up to something as overwhelming as that?

"Cloud," Sephiroth says. "You are 'just' you, that’s true. But that’s all you need to be."

Cloud swallows hard. It's true that Sephiroth has never asked for Cloud to give anything more than what he has already given; all Sephiroth has done is give unwaveringly of himself. It's part of the reason why Cloud is so afraid of ruining this, because it's been _so good,_ and Sephiroth is going to want something more in return eventually, isn't he? More importantly, Sephiroth is going to _deserve_ more in return, because that's how relationships are supposed to work, Cloud knows, a mutual give-and-take, and he has nothing he can give of his own.

But if Sephiroth says he doesn’t want anything else, well—Cloud's still not sure he isn't just going to end up disappointed, but for all Cloud can warn him against it, it's Sephiroth's own choice in the end. And Cloud sure as hell isn't going to cut things short if he doesn't have to.

So he ducks his chin and concedes. " … Okay. If you say so. But I…" Sephiroth's sad gaze flashes through Cloud's memory again. It’s not new for Cloud to not want to be the reason his loved ones are upset, but… he also wants to be the reason Sephiroth is happy, and this is _very_ new. So he resolves, “I wanna try to do better for you anyways.”

And that’s the real difference, isn’t it? Cloud _wants_ to try. It’s not guilt or necessity or obligation that pushes him to do what needs to be done this time, but his own genuine desire, and that on its own is incredibly freeing compared to the weight of previous expectations he’d carried.

For a moment, Sephiroth's eyes widen in surprise. Then his expression carefully shifts to something unreadably neutral and he looks away. "I… do not wish to argue with you," Sephiroth says, slow and stiff and almost pained.

Cloud blinks up at him, confused and a little concerned. “Sephiroth?”

But Sephiroth just shakes his head, then straightens and raises his hands so they hover awkwardly over Cloud’s shoulders. “May I… hold you?”

Cloud’s lips part in surprise, and he glances around quickly at the lunchtime rush of oblivious ShinRa employees surrounding them. This time it’s less out of concern about feeding the rumors than for the hit Sephiroth’s reputation will take, because— “Doesn’t that go against your whole, uh, intimidation thing?” 

He gestures at Sephiroth’s general… everything as emphasis. Half the war with Wutai had been won through Sephiroth’s reputation as a deadly and ruthless killer, after all. And in more everyday applications, his image of cold, unaffected stoicism does plenty to scare off adoring fans and annoying executives alike, and if Cloud were lucky enough to boast the same, he’d cut the current problems he has to deal with down by about half. Holding someone in public would surely shatter that image completely.

But Sephiroth just gives him a _look_ that somehow conveys how many fucks he doesn’t give about what the public thinks, and specifically how many negative fucks he gives about what _ShinRa_ thinks. Which is a fair point and honestly quite admirable despite how gods-damned irrational it is, in Cloud’s opinion, so he half-sighs, half-laughs, and nods in permission.

Sephiroth seems pleased despite his expression not changing one iota, and he doesn't waste a second before he wraps his arms around Cloud and pulls him close, burying his face in the soft spikes of his hair. Eventually, he says, voice muffled, "Every time I learn more about your past, it pains me further."

Cloud frowns, confused. He hadn't mentioned anything about his past at all during this conversation, had he? But he just sighs and pats Sephiroth's shoulder a bit awkwardly, because in this position, he can't reach far enough around to pat Sephiroth's back. "All right, all right. It's fine. Everything's fine."

"Everything will be fine, yes," Sephiroth says, and it sounds almost like a vow.

-

Apparently, President Shinra decides that the meetings should be weekly, and Cloud finds himself following a similar routine every week. Go to the meeting. Listen to a bunch of fully-grown adults squabble like five-year-olds on the playground. Grab lunch from the mess hall with Sephiroth. Rinse and repeat.

Once in a while Reeve will snatch Cloud away for a few minutes to ask Cloud for his opinion on this or that proposal, which Cloud mostly deals with by nodding and agreeing with what Reeve says. After all, Reeve is the one who specializes in these kinds of things, not Cloud. _Cloud_ specializes in hitting things with pointy objects, which is about as far as you can get from sustainability initiatives.

Thankfully, these conversations never seem to last very long, because Sephiroth takes to hovering menacingly behind Cloud the entire time. In fact, with their relationship apparently cemented in Sephiroth’s mind, he takes to hovering menacingly around Cloud whenever he can, which actually does a lot in scaring off any potential harassers. Or anyone who potentially wants to speak to Cloud in general. However, this isn’t nearly as often as Sephroth would probably like. He has quite a bit of paperwork to sort through after Genesis and Angeal return from Fort Tamblin, officially ending the Wutai War and opening negotiations.

So instead, Cloud builds a routine with Zack. Training. Hanging out. Missions, now that Zack's been cleared, although they're still low-grade, easy and unimportant, most likely because of Cloud. It gets easier to be around the energetic Third with every day that passes, less like getting punched in the gut every time he does something painfully familiar, and sometimes it almost feels like this is just a continuation of their friendship from before. Like Cloud had never lost him in the first place.

Zack has the privilege of being able to reserve training rooms to himself due to his mentorship under Angeal, so it's just the two of them in the VR one day when the door slides open, automatically canceling their session, and Sephiroth steps in.

"S-Sephiroth! Sir!" Despite his claim that he doesn't idolize Sephiroth anymore, Zack still seems rather overeager and nervous as he snaps a salute.

Cloud greets Sephiroth with his own much more laid-back nod. "Thought you were catching up on reports."

Sephiroth shrugs, a sleek, elegant motion that makes his hair shimmer in a wave of silver. "It seems that I cannot progress with my portion until Genesis has completed his, and Genesis is, as always… rather woefully behind. So I decided to seek you out instead."

"How did—how'd you even know we were here?" Zack still sounds surprised, but Cloud knows him well enough to pick up on the note of suspicion in his voice.

"My Cloud senses were tingling."

Cloud shoots him a _look—_ he still hasn't forgotten how Sephiroth had flawlessly sought him out the other day he'd purposely tucked himself away in an obscure corner so no one would find him.

But then Sephiroth continues, voice dry, "It was a joke. The crowd of disgruntled SOLDIERs milling about outside the training room doors was quite noticeable. If you were seeking to avoid more reasons for jealousy and resentment, Cloud, interrupting their training schedules seems rather counterproductive."

Cloud's sigh and mutter of _wasn't my idea_ vanishes under Zack's enthusiastic response. "Cloudy here is helping me master a super top-secret technique! Can't have random onlookers for that, now can we?"

" … I see." Sephiroth's eyebrows raise an infinitesimal fraction. "'Cloudy'?"

"Back to work, Zack," Cloud reminds him, then turns back to Sephiroth to answer, "It's easier to just go with it." He sighs again, but his eyes are soft and fond and sad as he murmurs just for Sephiroth's ears to hear, "Omnislash was Zack's idea originally. He deserves the chance to master his own version this time around."

"Omnislash," Sephiroth repeats, sounding intrigued as his eyes track Zack's motions, as if trying to envision what they might look like when brought together into a coherent moveset. "An improvement of Octaslash, if I may assume by the name. I don't believe you've ever mentioned it before. I would be most interested in seeing your completed version—"

"You wouldn't," Cloud interrupts bluntly, turning away from Sephiroth to watch Zack instead. "The completed Omnislash is a last resort. You'd be better off never seeing it at all."

Because if he sees it, that means things have gone very, very wrong.

" … Cloud—"

"Again, Zack," Cloud says as Zack stumbles over the final form. "Focus on the last step. Slow down if you have to—muscle memory is more important than going fast."

Zack groans dramatically, but does as requested without further complaint, and after a few more minutes, Sephiroth says, "You're a good teacher. He’s already improved quite a bit with your help."

Cloud blinks up at him, startled. "Really? I’m kinda making things up as I go."

"You are," Sephiroth insists. "You taught me, after all."

He looks so earnest that Cloud makes a surprised huff, almost a laugh. "I don't think that counts. It was only a year, and you had a ton of actual teachers. I just pointed you in the right direction once in a while."

Before Sephiroth can answer, Cloud wanders back over to Zack as he reaches the end of one more slow repetition, gently nudging his elbows into place, then his feet. "Zack. Your left foot. The angle—"

"Thirty-five degrees, I know, I know," Zack groans. "I feel like we've been at this for so long I'm losing focus, man! I just gotta—blow off some steam, y'know?"

Cloud tilts his head in contemplation, then nods. "We'll finish up with a spar. See if this session sticks under pressure. Then we'll be done for the day."

"All right!" Zack fist pumps the air, looking absolutely thrilled at the chance to fight Cloud again.

It's not exactly anything intense; neither of them are going all-out, Cloud intentionally leaving openings best exploited with what he's taught Zack so far, and Zack obliges with the intended response, slower than he might have otherwise as he tries to implement new moves into his usual set. And yet an acid-green gaze burns into the back of Cloud's neck, cataloging his every movement, and Cloud knows that Sephiroth itches to fight him again.

The spar ends when Cloud starts to pick out signs of fatigue as Zack starts moving more sluggishly, arms trembling slightly every time their swords clash, and they draw back at the same time when Cloud says, "Hold."

Zack immediately flops onto the padded mat, wiping away the sweat on his forehead with the hem of his shirt. "Whew! You really know how to work a man hard, Cloudy. How'd I do?"

"Getting there," Cloud says, crouching beside Zack and offering a hand to help him up. "Warm down."

Cloud joins him on his stretches even if he isn't quite as tired; the spar had been a long one, and he'd worked up a bit of a sweat. He doesn't realize Sephiroth has crept closer until he drops a kiss against Cloud’s temple. "Beautiful as always."

Cloud bats him away half-heartedly. “I’m sweaty, dumbass.”

"You could be covered in blood and morbol guts and I wouldn’t care."

Zack covers his eyes and fake-screeches something about PDA, and after that, he seems perfectly comfortable treating Sephiroth like normal. Once Sephiroth catches up on most of his work, he starts getting lunch with Cloud and Zack more often, as well as standing in during their training sessions. Sometimes he even deigns to join in.

But he always stands off to the side and watches when they spar. Cloud's equal parts irritated and grateful; he can see the way Sephiroth's hand twitches towards Masamune whenever Cloud draws Tsurugi, the way something like jealousy flashes over his face every time Zack asks to spar. But ever since he told him about the future, sometimes Sephiroth handles Cloud like he’s made of blown glass, which can be frustrating at best.

And yet at the same time, Cloud doesn't want a repeat of what had happened that time they'd fought in the VR. When he’d fallen into the trap of his old memories and taken Sephiroth for his mortal enemy once more. He'd been lucky to stop himself just short of slitting Sephiroth's throat open. Sephiroth’s judgment is correct; better to not risk it again.

So Cloud's feelings on the matter, much like the rest of his feelings about his developing relationship with Sephiroth, are a conflicted mess. It doesn't help that with the increase in Sephiroth's casual displays of affection—a kiss pressed against Cloud's forehead or hair, an arm wound around his shoulders or waist, a hand curling around his own in gentle hold whenever possible—has led to an exponentially greater increase in the rumors flying. Even the skeptics—or the diehard fans—have no way of denying it; Cloud and Sephiroth are, apparently, the "it" couple of ShinRa, newspaper and tabloid headlines scream, after making up after their intense lovers' quarrel. Multiple quarrels, depending on which one you read.

Cloud himself isn't quite sure what to make of it. He hadn't expected Sephiroth to be quite so… overt in his affections, but he supposes that for all the silver-haired man's stoic, introverted nature, his intense possessiveness and complete disregard for public opinion make for a disastrous combo.

Otherwise, he and Sephiroth start spending more and more time alone together, and it's… comfortable. Easy. Sometimes they don't speak at all, just do tasks in each other's vicinity in mutual silence, with reassuring contact here and there—the quick tangle of fingers against each other. Leaning into each other's sides. Sephiroth's chin perched on top of Cloud's head as they both complete their own work.

It’s one day like this, Sephiroth filling out some kind of paperwork or other while Cloud cleans his sword after a mission with his usual meticulous detail, that Sephiroth says, voice careful, "You said you wanted to do 'better' for me."

Even as Cloud frowns, trying to recall the exact conversation, he can practically hear the quotes in Sephiroth's voice. "I did, yeah. What's up?"

"It's not necessarily something I'd consider doing 'better', but if there is a single thing I would ask of you…" He hesitates again. "I know there are many things you cannot discuss with me by virtue of your… past future. I understand this. And yet…"

Cloud sets down his sword, turning around and settling his hands in his lap to give Sephiroth his full attention. His voice is soft as he prompts, "And yet?"

"I don't wish for you to speak of things you cannot or do not want to speak of," Sephiroth says quickly. "Given that I am not the most talkative person either, I understand. So this is not intended to pressure you. But… you hide so much of yourself—sometimes out of necessity, yes, but I can tell much of it is out of shame, as well. And Cloud, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Not with me. So when there is something that bothers you—anything at all—if you would… consider coming to me. Not to speak of it, not if you don't wish to, but—if I could be of comfort to you, of _use_ to you, in any way at all…"

"Sephiroth…" Cloud's eyes grow wider in surprise with each word; he hadn't thought that Sephiroth might feel this way at all. That Sephiroth thinks Cloud does not reach out to him for help because he is _useless._ He stands and makes his way over, settling in Sephiroth's lap with his arms slung around the other man's broad shoulders so their eyes meet on the same level. "That's not why I—you shouldn’t get involved as long as you don’t have to. It's… You have a life in ShinRa. Friends. And I can't…"

He can't expect Sephiroth to drop everything he knows just to help him. Even less for Sephiroth to invest himself in Cloud's emotional baggage and all that entails.

"Cloud… perhaps your existing companions are better suited to help you than I am. Perhaps you have no need for my help at all. So I know I do not have to, no," Sephiroth says, hands settling on Cloud's waist, "but I very much want to. If there is some way—any way—I can help ease your burden, even if it is just emotionally, I will gladly do it."

"Sephiroth," Cloud says again, voice a tad wondering. "You—you do help. You have no idea how much…" How much having his patient, easy company every day means to Cloud. How much he himself means to Cloud in the first place.

Sephiroth blinks at Cloud, slow and thoughtful. "Perhaps you should consider raising your standards."

"Why should I?" Cloud says, honestly baffled. "I have you."

" … Cloud." Sephiroth’s exasperation is clear.

Cloud just shakes his head. “Your request…” He curls into Sephiroth just a bit, resting his chin on his shoulder, and his vision is swallowed by a curtain of silver. "I can't promise anything much, but I can promise I'll try."

Sephiroth sighs, cheek falling to rest against the top of Cloud's hair, and a hand leaves his waist to cradle the back of his head like something precious. "That is all I could ever ask of you."

-

The weeks pass in a similarly sedate manner; now that the largest immediate issue is the reactors, Cloud can't do much other than wait for ShinRa to get its act together. He's got his own suspicions about what Hojo is getting up to, but there also isn't much Cloud can do about that, either, not while Hojo has his mind-uploading failsafe in Deepground. The Science Department gathering data on Cloud and his abilities is just another risk he'd had to accept when he'd decided to come back to ShinRa on Sephiroth's suggestion.

Deepground is also something they'll have to deal with sooner or later, but he trusts Vincent to let him know what needs to be done and when. The red-cloaked man had been the one to take out most of the Tsviets in the future, not Cloud, and the kind of information gathering required to see exactly how far Deepground has progressed in their experiments is better left to him as well.

Other than that, the only thing left for Cloud to worry about is, as always, JENOVA. And yet he still doesn't even know for sure if she’s alive or not. As Sephiroth had said, all signs indicate that Cloud had killed her all those years ago, but—he still can't help but feel like she hadn't _really_ died. Whether it's because Hojo must have somehow had a contingency after using her as bait to trap Cloud that fateful day, or because of the burgeoning connection between him and Sephiroth that feels like it only grows stronger with every casual touch—Cloud doesn't know. Maybe he's just being paranoid.

Eventually, enough meetings with requisite foot-dragging and budget-whinging pass that Cloud's—and Sephiroth's—combined glare finally pressures the President into approving Reeve's proposal, albeit a modified version. Reeve lets Cloud read through it the moment he asks, since he doesn’t want to have to go through the red tape of requesting a copy from the company itself, and sure enough, although it lists out in excruciating detail the timeline and regulations in place for deactivating Reactor 1 through Reactor 8, the document makes no mention of Reactor 0 at all. However, the introduction and conclusion both include the phrase “reactors within Midgar city bounds”, which spins a good enough web to catch President Shinra should Cloud ever need it.

He hands Reeve the thick sheaf of papers back with a tiny, satisfied smile. “It’s good. Could be better, of course, but this is ShinRa. It’s as good as it gets.”

“I’ll get my department on it right away, then,” Reeve says with a determined nod, and with that statement, the capstone of all of Cloud’s efforts finally begins.

Even Sephiroth comments on Cloud’s good mood when he stops by his office to pick him up for dinner and stands on his toes to press a quick kiss to Sephiroth’s cheek on his own initiative. “What’s the occasion?” he asks with a raised brow. “Not that it isn’t appreciated, but—you aren’t… usually the one who initiates these sorts of things.”

“The reactors are finally going down,” Cloud says, gripping Sephiroth’s hands in his, and it feels like an entire weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Sure, there’s still Deepground and Reactor 0 and Hojo to worry about, but—this feels like the first large step after almost months of no progress. For just one night… he can relax.

Sephiroth seems to pick up on it too, studying his face for a long while before tugging Cloud up close against his side as they begin walking back to his apartment. “You seem… lighter.”

“I am,” he says, and his sincerity is evident in his voice. Eight whole reactors out of the way in one fell swoop with no deaths, no plates dropping, no energy crisis—it’s a miracle far better than anything Cloud could have ever imagined, and it feels almost like absolution for the crimes _his_ tiny, battered AVALANCHE had grimly borne as the consequences of their rash actions.

“I’m glad,” Sephiroth says, and they spend the rest of the walk in an easy silence.

They make dinner together with Sephiroth’s now-stocked kitchen in equal silence, communicating in tiny nudges and hand gestures and eye contact. There’s something comfortable in the sizzle of the pan as the food cooks, the air warm from more than just the heat of the fire, and Cloud almost misses the buzzing of his PHS abandoned on the counter.

He blinks down at it. The only people who have his number are Sephiroth, Zack, Lazard, and probably the Turks, considering who he got it from, and Zack much prefers texting over calling, so it must be work-related. He almost decides to ignore it, but Sephiroth gives him a wry smile and a nod, so he answers.

“Strife speaking.”

_“Helloooo! This is your friendly neighborhood flower girl calling on behalf of our favorite mutual vampire friend! Do you have time to talk, Cloud?”_

Cloud just barely stops himself from saying her name out loud; even if the Turks are no longer a threat, the Science Department—and perhaps even the President—could be listening any time. “I’m sorry,” he tells Sephiroth, and he regrets that Sephiroth simply nods again, looking sad but unsurprised.

“Go on, Cloud. I’ll take care of everything here.”

Cloud nods back. “I’ll make it up to you.” Then he turns back to his PHS and makes his way to Sephiroth’s bedroom, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. It’s been so long since they’ve had the chance to speak to each other. “For you? Always. But I might have to take a rain check this time. My PHS is at one percent.”

_“Whaaaat? Cloud, I thought you grew out of that habit! This is really important, you know—”_

Cloud switches on the feature Tseng had so kindly explained to him during their meeting all those months ago. “I know,” he says, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “All clear on my end. What do you need, Aerith?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for all your comments the past two chapters!! i haven't had the spoons to reply but i truly appreciate each and every one of them
> 
> in other news, uh..... cw for mild(?) descriptions of body horror in this chapter........ lmk if i should tag >_>

_"I've got news on AVALANCHE. The current one, not our AVALANCHE."_

Cloud blinks, bewildered. AVALANCHE is low on his priority list, simply because he knows next to nothing about its original iteration, and he asks, "From Vincent?"

 _"No, silly! From me!"_ Aerith's tinkling laugh is comforting to hear; that means whatever news she has, it can't be too bad, Cloud thinks. That is, until she says, _"Who knew the leader of an ecoterrorist organization would like walking around topside and buying flowers?"_

Cloud's breath escapes him in a sharp, panicked hiss. Never mind the fact that Aerith is selling flowers above Plate a full three or four years earlier than originally; Cloud had expected that already. No, he's worried about the the fact that— "You spoke to her? Elfé? That's _dangerous,_ Aerith, if people see you being friendly with an ecoterrorist and report it to ShinRa—"

 _"You're an ecoterrorist too, you know,"_ Aerith points out with no little humor. _"And no one knows who she is. AVALANCHE is still small right now, so all they've really done so far is a few attacks testing ShinRa's security, and that's all been in the slums. Your_ _reactor body count is way higher than theirs."_

He grumbles a few choice words under his breath about the phrase _reactor body count_ , but she's right. "Okay," he concedes, although begrudgingly. "Then tell me, oh wise one, how'd you know her identity if no one else does?"

 _" … Zirconiade,"_ Aerith answers after a pause, as if that means anything to Cloud at all. _"It's a protomateria, like Vincent has. She feels a bit like him, too, even if it's not as strong. But when I handed her a flower—there was no way I could've missed it."_

"And then? This still doesn't exactly scream 'terrorist org' to me—"

 _"Well,"_ she says, drawing the word out a bit mischievously, _"people tend to buy the mystic flower girl act, so I might have, you know, said a few things about her self-debilitating power… the whispers of the Planet… her troubled soul…"_

Cloud resists the urge to groan and massages his forehead instead. He can definitely see where this is going now. "Okay. So. She panics, goes 'how could you possibly know my deep dark terrible secret', you give her your whole 'the flowers speak to me' spiel, and she—what? Spills her guts about the very illegal things she's been doing?"

 _"Apparently, an innocent slum girl miraculously growing and selling flowers in Midgar of all places is a sign from the gods."_ Aerith sounds very proud of herself even as Cloud mutters _innocent my ass_ under his breath. _"She's been visiting me almost every day now, and she likes to talk about her, ah, let's call them moral dilemmas. I heard enough to put two and two together in the end."_

"Oh," Cloud says, a bit faintly. He'd already known, of course, but every so often he still gets slammed with how Aerith is an absolute miracle worker.

 _"You know,"_ she continues casually, _"AVALANCHE kind of idolizes you. The mysterious savior who managed to stop all the reactors outside of Midgar. They were actually almost gonna carry out a bombing mission in your name as like, revenge for you being captured by ShinRa."_

It takes a moment too long for Cloud's taxed brain to get over the absolutely wild idea of the original AVALANCHE _idolizing him_ and register the second half of Aerith's words. "A _bombing mission—_ no, they can't, do they even know how many people would get—" He pauses, panic fading. "Almost? So… they didn't in the end?"

_"Nope! I told Elfé that I knew you personally, and that you'd gotten yourself captured on purpose so you could threaten ShinRa into getting rid of the rest of the reactors without bloodshed. And that the 'without bloodshed' part is very important. So now AVALANCHE might even lay down the terrorism part of ecoterrorism. You're welcome, by the way."_

"And they all believed you just like that," Cloud says more than asks, because—why the fuck not? He knows very well how irrationally easy Aerith is to trust. He has no doubt that Elfé really had spilled all her _moral dilemmas_ to Aerith, not when Cloud had spent practically ten years doing the same, and not even to her directly, but to her spirit in the Lifestream with only the vaguest of evidence to show that she had actually been listening.

_"Yep! Well, she did. The other leaders… not so much."_

"Finally, someone logical."

_"Aw, shush you! One of them—his name is Shears—he seems fine, but the other, Fuhito… he's a scientist. He seems like bad news."_

"Bad news how? Other than the obvious, that is." In Cloud's opinion, the word _scientist_ is never any good news, to say the least.

_"He's the one who keeps insisting they go on with their original bombing agenda because there's no way ShinRa would willingly shut down their own reactors. Elfé says he's a strong ally of the pro-Lifestream movement, and even if he can get pretty manic about it, he has the Planet's best interests at heart. That he's practical-minded, so as long as we give him hard proof, he'll change his mind. But I—I just… get a really bad feeling in my gut whenever I hear about him."_

"Trust it," Cloud says shortly. He doesn't need to explain why. But he relents, shoulders slumping, and he runs a tired hand over his face as he decides to give this _Fuhito_ the benefit of the doubt. He'd better not regret this. "How about this. There's a press conference tomorrow morning. ShinRa's announcing their reactor shutdown plan to the public. Telling everyone is as good as doing it, if they don't want to lose public favor. Use that as your proof—if he doesn't change his mind, he's bad news."

Aerith gasps in delight, clearly distracted by Cloud's own news. _"A public announcement—that means you made it! Cloud, I'm so proud of you!"_

"What's with that?" Cloud huffs a laugh. "You already told other people, it's not like it's a surprise."

_"Shut up and let me celebrate for you, you grump. You've been working on this for such a long time, but I know you well enough that you definitely aren't gonna let yourself relax nearly as much as you should."_

He just rolls his eyes. "I _was_ relaxing. Until you called with 'very important' news from Vincent."

 _"With Sephiroth?"_ Something about Aerith's voice is much too knowing for Cloud's taste—although of _course_ she'd know, their relationship is more than public knowledge in Midgar—and he coughs quickly, cutting her off.

"So," he transitions clumsily, "what did Vincent want, anyways?"

She sounds like she's trying very hard not to laugh, but she has the good grace to go along with it. _"Well—I wasn't joking when I asked you if you had time tonight. Vincent wants to take you on a bit of a field trip, and you should dress for stealth…"_

-

Sephiroth catches Cloud standing by the window in the living room, tugging a long black cloak over his shoulders in a single smooth movement. He’s changed from the standard SOLDIER uniform back into his old outfit, and a bout of nostalgia sweeps over Sephiroth at the familiar look. His sword isn’t on his person, most likely to accommodate the cloak, but Sephiroth knows that makes no difference; he remembers what Cloud had said that day in the reactor, that his blade comes when he calls.

Even with only his profile lined by the eerie green glow of the reactor-lit cityscape, Sephiroth catches a glimpse of Cloud’s face as he shifts, adjusting his cloak so it covers his mouth and nose, then tugs the hood over his head. The quiet peace that had softened Cloud’s features earlier has vanished without a trace, leaving only his usual impassive, closed-off frown. A tangle of emotions clogs Sephiroth’s chest, something like disappointment and sadness and resentment—not at Cloud, but at the woman who’d called earlier. Sephiroth finds himself almost irrationally angry—how _dare_ she take away Cloud’s happiness when it’s vanishingly rare enough as it is—

But he takes a deep breath. Shuts his eyes. Pushes those dark thoughts away. Then he opens his eyes again and asks, “Are you going out?”

He knows the other man had been aware of his presence the moment he’d stopped by the entrance to the living room, leaning against the doorframe, but Cloud still flinches like a burglar caught red-handed when Sephiroth finally speaks.

“ … Yeah,” he says after a long moment, then turns to face Sephiroth. His eyes are dark and apologetic, the furrow between his eyebrows just a tad deeper than usual. “About dinner—”

Sephiroth just shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.” Cloud had warned him, after all, that he’d be busy with his own affairs until everything on his saving-the-world agenda has been sorted out; Sephiroth had been fully prepared for many disappointments, so much so that the only reason they are disappointments at all are because he hates how they weigh on Cloud rather than any failing of Cloud himself.

Even with Sephiroth’s reassurance, Cloud still hesitates, the apologetic look not leaving his eyes. But all he says is, “Don’t wait for me.”

He knows he’s just speaking about dinner, but Sephiroth has to ruthlessly quash the urge to say, _I’ll always wait for you no matter what._ Instead, he asks, “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.” The cloak over Cloud’s mouth shifts ever-so-slightly, and Sephiroth knows his teeth are digging into his lower lip in thought. “Hopefully not more than one night. Zack’ll be disappointed if I miss a session.”

He decides not to bother responding to that. It almost feels unfair that Cloud chooses to mention Zack instead of Sephiroth himself. As if he doesn't think Sephiroth will miss his presence a hundred times more sorely. But he knows nothing good will come from dwelling on those kinds of thoughts; Sephiroth distracts himself with more practical matters. “How do you plan on escaping and re-entering the tower unnoticed?”

Cloud just gives him a bit of a look, eyes expressive as ever despite most of his face being covered, and his wings emerge with a flutter before folding neatly behind his back, snow-white feathers rustling underneath the dark fabric of his cloak. “Same way I always have.”

"Ah. I see." Sephiroth should have known. Genesis _had_ said he'd jumped out the window from the fiftieth floor, after all. The pollution is much thicker where they are now, almost twenty floors higher, but that must be what the cloak is for, to shield Cloud from the worst of it. This method of travel must also be why Cloud currently wears his old outfit; the clothes must have some sort of property that allows them to adapt to his changes in form, whether they be his odd age transitions or simply the appearance of his wings.

Now that the issue of Cloud getting around undetected is resolved, Sephiroth turns instead to the matter of Cloud's sharp drop in mood. "For you to leave on such short notice—is there… something wrong?"

Cloud hesitates, but says after a pause, "Probably not. Just—meeting with a few old friends."

That's not very reassuring at all. Whether he means friends from his future or friends he'd made in this time or possibly both, Sephiroth knows he won't clarify. So he just asks, "Is there any way I can help?"

" … Leave the window unlocked. If you can, something to identify it from outside would be helpful too. And if anyone asks where I was tonight, I slept over in your apartment."

He raises his eyebrows. "Should I be concerned about any potential criminal happenings tonight?"

Cloud huffs, faint amusement crossing his features. "That'll depend on what news Vincent has."

Of course. Vincent. So the call must have been from one of their mutual associates. Sephiroth very carefully does not allow his mouth to twist bitterly.

"Sephiroth." Cloud draws his attention back with a quiet call of his name, and his bitterness evaporates. Each syllable always falls soft and sweet from Cloud's lips, and Sephiroth's chest can't help but warm in affection each time. The warmth only spreads when Cloud abandons his position by the window to walk over, tugging his cloak and hood back down to expose his face, then taking Sephiroth's hands in his own, fingers gentle as always.

"Cloud," Sephiroth says back, voice curling fondly around his name in turn.

"I'll be back soon." Innocuous words for some, but for Cloud, they hold all the weight of a solemn promise, and Sephiroth can't help but tug him in close by their linked hands, burying his face in soft gold and breathing Cloud in.

He knows he can't drag this moment out too long, though; Cloud has places he needs to be, and eventually, Sephiroth pulls back. Lets him go as he always has. Somehow, each time aches a little more than the last. "Stay safe."

"I'll try." Cloud steps away, returning to stand in front of the window, and the quirk of his mouth is both rueful and self-deprecating before it vanishes back under dark, heavy fabric.

Sephiroth’s mouth tugs downward in answer. Just _trying_ doesn’t seem quite good enough—not because Sephiroth doubts Cloud's ability, but because he’s seen just how much Cloud values himself over the past few months, and it totals to very little at all. The sight of Cloud turning away has him opening his mouth to demand _let me come with you,_ consequences be damned, when Cloud throws the window open, letting in a gust of strong wind that carries the strong, acrid scent of mako pollution. Though his expression doesn’t change, Sephiroth’s eyes sting and water, words choked away by the burning in his throat, and his well-trained body instinctively snaps his mouth back shut to keep the rest of the poisonous air out.

Despite the risks of leaving the window open too long this many stories up, Cloud lingers as he crouches on the windowsill, glancing back over his shoulder. Blue eyes burn bright with some unnameable emotion as they rove over Sephiroth’s face. Then, between one breath and the next, he steps out into thin air and falls, spread wings as silent and ephemeral as an owl in the night.

Sephiroth's outstretched hand, pale and stark against the mako-lit sky, stays long after Cloud is gone.

-

"Hollander was arrested in Modeoheim several days ago,” Vincent says by way of greeting the moment Cloud alights within earshot, settling noiselessly behind the thick, draping cover of some flowering plant on instinct despite knowing the Turks pose no real threat anymore.

"Oh," Cloud says. "Already?"

"What, no 'hello, nice to see you, how are you doing' from either of you?" Aerith puts her hands on her hips scoldingly. "And you came all the way out here to meet! You guys really are two peas in a pod."

Here, as Aerith says, is the garden beside her house. She'd told Cloud to meet Vincent here, where he has been using her house and the church as alternating bases of operations for the past few months, and otherwise, she hadn't said much else after her advice to dress for stealth. However, she appears to already know everything Vincent is about to tell him; usually she would insist on staying to listen, but this time, she just wishes them good luck before she heads back inside, explaining, “I’ve got an early start tomorrow if I want to catch the press conference in time. I’ll do what I can with what we talked about, Cloud.”

Cloud gives her a thankful nod, feeling reassured, then turns back to Vincent. "I thought you guys had to wait for a full investigation on ShinRa's end?"

"So you were unaware. Unsurprising. President Shinra has ordered the Turks to maintain absolute secrecy; one of his top scientists going rogue is no small matter that could spark public panic. But yes, the investigation has found without a doubt that Hollander has been attempting to build an army of SOLDIER clones using Genesis as a base. A capital crime of treason, in the President's eyes."

Cloud's mouth twists sourly. "So that didn't change in the end, huh."

Vincent inclines his head, looking somber even for him. "Hollander's progress was highly impeded by the lack of experimental material—both Genesis's DNA and SOLDIERs to force it upon. Unfortunately, this meant he _compensated_ with residents from Icicle Inn and the occasional maintenance worker, who were incompatible enough that their remains were not… perceived as human remains until recently."

Cloud swallows hard. He'd feel like he'd be more surprised if not for how distressingly familiar he is with the way these types of scientists work. As it is, all he feels is sick to his stomach.

"I apologize," Vincent says quietly. "I grew overconfident; I thought that because Hollander's circumstances were so different, he would not be able to resort to the same actions. I fell into a trap sprung by our own premature information."

"Don't apologize. None of us thought…" But he trails off, shaking his head. Maybe this is why Tseng had refused information on the future. It clouds your judgment, makes you too sure things will happen one way or another as a result of your actions, when clearly the flow of events is both more elastic and and more inflexible than they'd thought.

"Regardless," Vincent says, ruby eyes hard and glittering, "approximately three hours from now, the Turks will administer a lethal poison to Hollander, then make it appear as if security was breached undetected, a full twelve hours before whatever farce of a trial President Shinra has organized."

"What? Why?" Cloud frowns, perplexed. Not that he doesn't think Hollander deserves it, after hearing what he's done, but— "There's no way he isn't going to get a death sentence." Which effectively gets the same job done without any extra effort on their part. And— "That's probably gonna get the crime pegged on _me."_

"At the same time," Vincent continues smoothly, "you and I will slip undetected into the Deepground facility and hack into its interface, corrupting whatever files we can find of Hojo's mind upload failsafe. Hojo, as paranoid as he is, will be alerted immediately, and will see Hollander's death and the destruction of his security measures as a threat to his life. He will most assuredly flee to go in hiding, which will—"

"Make Shinra think it was him," Cloud breathes in realization. "Getting rid of Hojo's political power just like that—Vincent, you're a fucking _genius."_

"Very few people can boast a greater understanding of Hojo than I," Vincent just murmurs, voice colored with a mix of conflicted pride and aching loss and a cold, hard fury.

Cloud takes a deep breath in, then lets it out in a long, slow sigh. “Okay. If we’re doing this, I’m guessing you have some kind of plan for dealing with Deepground.”

"Despite its inhumane experiments, the current Deepground is… a platoon of SOLDIERs loyal solely to the President, at least in name. In truth, they are obedient only to their Restrictors under threat of immense pain. Even so, we cannot simply remove the Restrictors and be done with it; even without years of isolation under the collapsed Plate, Deepground's mental instability and lack of moral compass is still a concern, especially considering the powers some of them hold."

Aa usual, Vincent speaks in roundabout ways rather than just answering directly, but Cloud just nods. He thinks he follows it all so far. "So we can't set them free without a way to make sure they don't end up causing bigger problems. But the only way of keeping them under control is…" Not good, to say the least. In Deepground's eyes, they'd just be trading one set of captors for another, which is just a time bomb waiting to go off. "So the plan is?"

"Currently? Nothing," Vincent says simply. "They are a variable with too many unknowns. The ideal scenario tonight consists of no encounter with Deepground at all—the only target is Hojo's data. This doubles as an additional fear tactic as well—it tells Hojo we know everything about his top-secret research, that we are capable of passing undetected through both Turk and Deepground security, and yet we chose to take specific action against his self-serving survival measures."

"So it's a stealth mission," Cloud summarizes, then frowns. "Then why'd you ask me to come? Wouldn't it be better for you to go by yourself?"

"The ideal scenario is just that: an ideal. Tampering with Hojo's files will undoubtedly set off an alarm; at that point, swiftness will be our main objective. Should things go seriously awry, Deepground is dangerous enough that having backup will be essential for a clean escape."

Cloud just hums skeptically. It would make sense except having Cloud along would raise the chances of things going _awry,_ as Vincent calls it, in the first place.

Except Vincent reassures, "You've demonstrated more than enough stealth over the course of our months on the run. I have faith you will not be a liability."

" … Okay," Cloud says after a pause, because he knows Vincent doesn't give praise lightly. He takes a deep breath. When he looks up, his eyes are serious, jaw set in a determined line. "So how are we doing this?"

-

Vincent has clearly been in here before, Cloud thinks as they skirt the edge of a broad, steel-and-concrete hallway. Maybe Chaos has deigned the matter important enough to share memories of Deepground's base in the future. But Cloud thinks it's much more likely that Vincent has simply scouted the area in advance—the whole building had collapsed inward on itself after Meteorfall, and it's unlikely the base Vincent had seen in the future is anything like the one they traverse now other than in the skeleton of its design.

With Vincent's guidance, they sneak unerringly past each circling patrol and ambling group of scientists, and it doesn't take before they reach a pair of iron-jawed doors sealed shut.

"Hojo's primary computer room," Vincent murmurs. "It stores the majority of his data—what little of it that is digitized, at least. Thankfully, it serves our purposes well by narrowing our search. Video footage from cameras within the facility is also streamed directly here; you will keep watch while I deal with Hojo's memory program."

It sounds like Cloud came out of this with the much easier end of the deal, and he just nods as he watches Vincent flawlessly disable the door's mechanism and it slides open. As they enter, Vincent makes a beeline for what appears to be the main interface, while Cloud spots a group of screens displaying silent video and assumes that's what he's supposed to be keeping watch over. At first, all the images blur together, and his eyes rove over them idly, not picking up on much of anything. But then his eyes catch on a very familiar stooped figure operating on something even more familiar laying on a lab table, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Vincent. Hojo's in his labs down here."

There's a brief pause, but Vincent doesn't sound very perturbed as he replies, "Not too uncommon of an occurrence."

"He's—there's a _person,_ Vincent. I can't—we can't just—"

"We can and we _have to,_ Cloud." Vincent is beginning to sound terse. "The file corruption process has already started. I estimate the alarms will sound within five minutes."

Cloud runs a stressed hand through his hair. But he can't just leave someone alive and clearly suffering under Hojo's torture, especially not when upon closer inspection, the figure writhing in its restraints looks vaguely like—

Zack's friend. That day in the Midgar wastes with the Zolom. And come to think of it, Cloud's learned by now that SOLDIERs often room with another person in their squad, and hadn't Zack said that his former roommate had supposedly been discharged due to an adverse reaction to mako? He'd _known_ there'd been more to that, especially since it can't be any coincidence the Third had disappeared shortly after his encounter with Cloud, but he'd been thoroughly distracted by everything else going on, and—he's sure that whatever the poor kid is going through, Zack had only been spared due to his connections to Angeal.

Cloud feels sick. This is all his fault.

So he sets his jaw and makes his decision, fingers flying across the controls. He owes this to Zack.

"Cloud—!" Vincent warns, but Cloud ignores him, too busy listening intently to the static-filled audio playing from the selected screen.

 _"—commencement of trial number forty-three, subject forty-three, recording start."_ Hojo's slimy voice, filled with clinical detachment as always, is unmistakable. _"Despite modifications to the formula, after the initial struggle and screaming, the subject appears to be displaying similar reactions to previous subjects. Elevated heart rate, increased blood pressure, bouts of hysteria, seizures, slurred vocalizations… ah, here come the bodily mutations… hmm… not a favorable sign."_

_" … uni… re…"_

Cloud watches, horrified, as the previously-human form twists in decidedly inhuman ways, limbs stretching and cracking, flesh melting like rubber. He doesn't need to hear any more of the poor boy's mumblings; it's similar enough to what he's heard before from the numb mouths of stumbling, black-clothed figures that he knows immediately what he's trying to say, and his stomach fills with a cold, leaden dread. _Reunion._

 _"C… lo… close… so… clo…"_ Finally, the struggling mass of flesh stills, falling silent, and Cloud is almost thankful that he hadn't suffered any further. He shoves down the swelling horror that tries to claw its way up and choke his throat; he can't afford to panic here, deep inside the heart of enemy territory with Vincent relying on him. He needs to _pay attention._ Hojo is—Hojo is trying to—

 _"Fascinating."_ Despite his words, Hojo only sounds mildly interested at best. _"Despite multiple vocalizations of the word 'reunion' in the past—see recordings of trials twenty-nine through forty-two—no subject has never expressed notions of proximity before. Sephiroth has not left his station within the tower for the past five months, nor has he entered the lower levels of the building, so perhaps this is indicative of a stronger connection. Despite the necessary disposal of the subject's biohazardous corpse just like all of its predecessors, results as of today will be labeled as a potential success in the current series of experiments with C-cells—"_

Cloud jumps a good foot in the air as a single shrill alarm blares, and it takes a good moment before he realizes that it comes only from the recording. Smart—only having the alarm alert Hojo rather than telling the perpetrators that they've been noticed—but Cloud doesn't have time to care about it, mind too busy focused on what Hojo had said right before it'd gone off, something about— _C-cells—_

"Cloud, we're finished here. We need to leave now," Vincent says urgently, but Cloud's attention is glued to the screen in front of him. He hadn't thought it'd be possible for his dread to deepen, and yet it grows into a dark, sinking pit in his gut with each word that falls from Hojo's mouth.

 _"Or perhaps… yes, of course! Given the source of the cells and the targeted alarm that just went off—this is it! The perfect chance to capture my most coveted inspiration away from prying eyes has fallen straight into my hands—guards!"_ A sick, gleeful elation spreads on his face. _"Someone has tampered with the data in my main computer room. The perpetrator should have the appearance of a male human—young, blond, blue eyes. I want it captured at any cost._ Alive."

"Cloud—!" Vincent tugs on Cloud's arm, truly frantic, and this time, Cloud doesn't need any extra encouragement to turn tail and run.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to drop by and say hi, yell, ramble, etc at my [tumblr](https://skadren.tumblr.com/)


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